


Russian Takeout

by linascribbles



Series: Model Partner Universe [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, As a b-plot, Bilinguism, Bucky is a foodie hipster but won't admit it, Content warnings on chapters but nothing explicit, Engineer Bucky Barnes, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Model Natasha Romanov, Non strict uphold of a kosher diet, Non-Explicit Sex, One discussion of antisemitism in fiction, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Russian Natasha Romanov, a lot of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linascribbles/pseuds/linascribbles
Summary: Russian model Natasha Romanov caught Bucky's eye from the moment he first saw her, but as one of Steve's coworkers on Avengers Agency, they only interact sporadically for a couple years. Then one day he gets to his work on Stark Industries, and finds out she's been hired as Pepper's assistant. A casual invitation to show her a good spot for lunch turns into two, then three. Friendship blooms and other arrangements as well, cue sci-fi marathons, too much food and a lot of trash talking as walls come down and love peaks out.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: Model Partner Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053269
Comments: 28
Kudos: 44





	1. Vodka Straight

**Author's Note:**

> So, a couple things!  
> First of all I want to thank the two people who helped me get characterizations right, [Lesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/) for her help with Nat, and Lucyfer for their help with Bucky, you guys are a gift <3  
> this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own!  
> In terms of content this fic is set in the same universe as A Lot Of Issues, but it's a Bucky/Nat fic. The fics happen in the margins of eachother and can be read independently but they DO spoil each other.  
> I'll put content warnings on chapters because I like to err on the side of caution but nothing is explicit, mainly one for dark themes (if you've read ALOI you already know abt Nat's past) and one for sexual content.
> 
> Content warning for alcohol consumption

James Buchanan Barnes has never been a man to hide what he wants. It might take him a bit to get the object of his affection right but he always gets it in the end.

“Would it kill you not to do whatever you wanted at least _once_ in your life?” Steve used to ask him, with a roll of his eyes and something like preemptive resignation slumping his shoulders. He knew it was a lost battle even before it started; he was saying it more out of muscle memory than any real investment in the argument.

“Probably not, but where’s the fun in that?” he’d drawl back, grinning and already giddy with the prospect of a good night ahead. He’d hook an elbow around his best friend’s neck and haul him up to the couple of girls he had been trading glances with.

A dark club, a park, the gym, it didn’t matter the setting, the act was always the same.

So when it’s in their apartment, some years later in the middle of Steve’s birthday’s party and he’s standing next to his best friend, he expects the act to play out along similar lines. He might not be able to quite hook his arm around his neck in the same easy way, and he’s considerably less awkward, but who hasn’t changed with time.?

Except it doesn’t play out like he predicted.

“What!?” Steve screams in his ear, loopy and grinning from one too many beers. 

“The redhead,” he repeats, jerking his head discreetly in the direction of the woman in question.

Their living room is dim and hazy with some smoke, no matter how many times Bucky screams at people to go smoke in the balcony in fear of Steve’s asthma making a comeback after years of absence, some still sneaks in. There are a bunch of people Bucky doesn’t know sitting around and chatting, most are Steve’s new work friends. For some unfathomable reason Steve signed a contract with a _model_ agency. Alright, Bucky _does_ know why, his previously small and frail best friend went and got big as a tree trunk in what felt like a blink of an eye. Bucky might not swing that way but he’s not blind, he knows how his friend looks. Same as he knows how he himself looks. 

Which is why he’s not that intimidated to approach the frankly _gorgeous_ redhead standing by their kitchen counter even though she hasn’t even looked his way. She’s leaning against it, with a glass on her hand and looking around in a way that hints at boredom edged with tension. When she drowns her cup in one gulp and immediately goes to serve herself another Bucky knows he’s right.

“Oh Natasha?” his friend replies, after obliterating all of Bucky’s attempts at subtlety by turning his body fully around to look at her with a frown. He really should have known better than to trust drunk Steve to be anything less than a bulldozer. “Yeah, good luck with that,” Steve grins sarcastically.

“Why? She not into men?” He asks with a frown, thrown by his friend’s reply. He won’t go saying anyone looks any certain way, given his best friend looks like the straightest stereotype there is nowadays and is, as he said when he came out to an unruffled Bucky on his sixteenth birthday ‘bi as fuck’. 

“Haven’t talked to her, yet. She’s been part of the agency for a bit I think. I don’t know, she’s just scary as all fuck too,” he says flippantly. Bucky frowns and before he can ask what a six foot something, ripped to hell dude can find scary on that petite redheaded woman, Steve barrels on, “and I think she’s with some guy, they came together,” Steve explains, turning back to look at Bucky.

“Could be a friend,” he points out, not quite willing to let it go.

“I saw them together at the balcony,” Steve replies, but Bucky knows Steve’s definition of ‘together’ is a bit wider than the usual one.

“Saw them how?” he inquires.

“Just talking, laughing, close,” his friend shrugs, proving him right without knowing. The alcohol has loosened him up finally and his words are starting to slur.

“Still could be just friends,” Bucky points out. There’s something in that woman that speaks to him. Besides the fact that he has always had a thing for redheads. He sneaks another glance at her and finds her sitting on the counter now, phone in hand. “What’s the worst that can happen? I get a no? I already have that,” he says, more to himself than to Steve, who seems to be slipping into a different wavelength. “You gonna help me out?” He asks.

“Nope, your funeral, Buck,” his reply surprises Bucky, and exponentially increases his interest in the woman. Bucky Barnes is also not opposed to getting a little bit thrown around.

With a shrug and one last sip of his drink, he breaks away from his friend’s company, who is already being brought into another conversation interspeed with drunken well-wishes for the birthday man.

The music doesn’t dim in the couple meters it takes to go from the living room of their apartment to the open kitchen, but the smoke is a little dimmer and the lack of people give at least the illusion of some space and privacy.

Bucky lays his empty glass on the counter and looks around for something to fill it with. The bottle at Natasha’s elbow caught his attention. _Bingo_.

With a looping couple of steps he comes closer. Natasha hasn’t looked up from her phone but even though he’s slightly buzzed already, Bucky knows she’s fully aware of his presence.

“Can I bother you for a sec?” he speaks up, raising his glass in explanation. Natasha peels her eyes from her phone and regards him with a slight frown, but doesn’t say anything. “The bottle next to you?” he asks, but her expression doesn’t change.

He wonders if she’s drunker than he thought or maybe high, but her eyes don’t look glassy at all and her posture is stiff, spine so straight it’s almost as if she were wearing a corset. With a grin he hopes comes across as friendly and not weirded out, he slowly extends his free hand and grabs the bottle. It’s vodka, straight, he convinces himself she must have had the chaser already served a little bit earlier, there was no way she was gulping it neat.

Natasha watches him with a guarded expression, when his fingers close around the neck of the bottle her expression clears.

She mutters something under her breath that Bucky can’t catch but makes an inquisitive sound in case she feels like repeating it. She doesn’t.

“You’re from the agency, right?” he prompts and starts to pour his drink. He isn’t getting the friendliest vibe from Natasha but he can’t quite bring himself to walk away yet. “That from where you know Stevie?” he asks and she perks up a little at the nickname, something in her expression clues him in that she’s smiling. She dips her head in a nod and takes a sip of her drink.

“Should’ve guessed,” he starts and as he’s about to cap the bottle back she extends her cup towards him.

“Please?” It's the first word she directs at him and it isn’t as much a word as a movement of her lips that he interprets and translates. 

“Sure,” he takes the glass from her, their fingers don’t graze but something tells him that they should have. He starts to pour. “I was saying, I should’ve guessed you were from the agency. You got that look about you, you know? No way you’re not a model,” He tries a cheeky grin, but her exasperated roll of her eyes brings a grin to his lips. That was a bad line and he knows it, but she isn’t exactly giving him much to work with.

“Name’s Bucky,” he says as he gives her the cup back, half filled with straight vodka. He gets that same feeling that there should have been some kind of contact. She raises an eyebrow, the hints of a smirk in the corner of her red lips as she takes a slow sip. She doesn’t even wince at the burn. “ _Alright_ ,” he concedes, unable to tear his gaze away from her, the corner of her lip tips upwards again. “Name’s actually James Buchanan Barnes, but the childhood nickname stuck.”

“ _James_ ,” she rolls his name around her tongue, slowly and washes it down with another sip of vodka. There’s a catch on her pronunciation that makes it sound like a different one. Bucky feels a sort of lightheadedness he’s going to blame on the alcohol fumes coming from the glass in his hand. Somehow he hasn’t gotten around to drinking from it yet.

“Yeah, you? Do I get your name?” He asks, and he doesn’t know what the answer will be but he sort of wants to see if her voice is as raspy as it seemed working out his name.

Her expression, as blank as it is, goes tight, her gaze slips away from him to a middle distance. She opens her mouth and inhales but it takes her another second to actually talk. “My name is Natalia,” she forces out in paused intervals.

She has an accent, Bucky realizes, it might even be Russian. He perks up at the prospect, he used to be fluent at it but he hasn’t practised speaking it properly in years since that semester abroad. Then again, maybe butchering this gorgeous woman’s language isn’t the best way to start off. She doesn’t seem to know much English either, even from those few words he can tell her accent is heavy and the phrase feels uncomfortable in her mouth.

“Natalia,” he echoes her name, working the right pronunciation into it. It’s the formal form and he knows better than to lapse into nicknames straightaway. In an ill advised whim he mimics her and takes a drink of his glass. The pure vodka burns his throat immediately. If he was aiming for the same cool, collected demeanour she had, he fails miserably and sputters at the scorching burn travels down. If only his Russian college mates could see him now, they’d laugh their asses off.

As he tries to regain function of his throat and maybe a semblance of dignity, he thinks he hears her chuckle. It’s a low, almost smokey sound, unsustainable, concealed like everything about her.

“<Dumbass,>” she mutters, and this time Bucky is sure that it’s Russian. He'd heard that word plenty of times during the semester abroad he spent at a Russian university; it's been years but he hasn't forgotten it. He feels his lips stretch on a full grin, ready to reply with something back and damn his dignity if his foundering will make her laugh again. 

He never gets to try, as a man walks in and Natalia turns around towards him without hesitation. Something inside her seems to relax at the sight of him, her shoulders drop the smallest of fractions but the change is noticeable. She extends her hand and the man takes it without a second thought.

 _Ah_ , Bucky thinks. _Together together, then_ . _Damnit, Steve was right._

The man gives Natalia a sloppy grin, clearly a little buzzed himself and turns toward Bucky.

“Hey, man, I’m Clint,” he extends his other hand and Bucky takes it. There is no unnecessary squeezing, yet he still gets the feeling he’s being measured and not completely deemed worthy.

Or maybe this guy is just shaking his hand and Natalia is just not that interested and Bucky needs to stop over analyzing things.

“Bucky,” he replies. “Childhood nickname,” he adds almost as a reflex. Unnecessarily, given Clint doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Nice to meet you,” he lets go of his hand and turns towards Natalia, who has somehow gotten down from the counter without Bucky registering the movement. “Shall we?”

She nods and Clints sets off towards the front door with a head nod at Bucky. Natalia gulps the rest of the cup like it’s nothing. Bucky’s throat burns in solidarity, even as she remains unruffled. She sneaks a glance at him and he tries to convey her an easy grin.

“<For the record, I didn’t know,>” he says gesturing between her and Clint. He might not be bringing her to his bedroom as he hoped but she seems like a lovely woman that he’d probably see again and he’d rather clear the air. His pronunciation must not have suffered too much because Natalia’s gaze snaps to his, and the surprise in it is unmasked. He grins, too pleased with the development before he reminds himself that that train was never in the station for him to begin with. “<I had to at least try, can’t say I regret it,>” he adds with a shrug. 

Bucky Barnes might be a lot of things but he’s not a liar.

“<And what if I simply said no?>” She counters back, assessing him with a challenging look, all surprise swiftly tucked away. Her tone is biting, in her mother tongue there’s a certain rawness to her that wasn’t there when she spoke English. The question catches Bucky unprepared.

“<Then I at least tried,>” he answers automatically, a frown on his forehead. “<Same as now.>”

She stares at him for a couple seconds. This time Bucky can’t read anything about her expression. Finally, she nods in a jerky motion and before he can process what is happening through the thin veil of alcohol, she’s turned around and is following Clint out the front door.

Bucky is left staring after her wondering what made her ask him that.

No hypothesis is reassuring.

He takes a gulp of his glass forgetting what it contains and what little dignity he had left is sorely lost for the night.

* * *

They do see each other sporadically through the years. Natalia becomes a friend of Steve, and Clint is such a friendly guy that it’s kind of impossible not to be friends with him. So they hung out sometimes, on birthdays and the occasional bar outing. 

Bucky doesn’t try again to make a pass at her, but as time passes he dares call her Natasha. He knows it’s a nickname even as everyone else uses it as her normal name. He unconsciously mutters in Russian during a pool match once when he’s exasperated but not angry and she replies back goodnaturedly. 

Maybe he starts to practice a bit more his pronunciation after the first time it happens. She might not be interested in him, but she’s still a beautiful woman and Bucky has _some_ pride left.

She seems to be happy with Clint anyways. Soon enough a couple of twins, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff join the agency as well and all four of them are so tight that Bucky can’t help but wonder at what made them that way. He has the inkling suspicion it wasn’t anything particularly nice.

They seem alright, though. And as the years pass her accent dilutes till it’s almost not existent, her smiles seem to come easier and there’s a certain easiness about her that Bucky didn’t notice was absent that first time he met her. He learns she is a Moscow Russian, while the twins are Sokovian, and that they all met while at a previous agency, including Clint. 

He finds out from Steve that not even for the life of her, she’d get up to get something when someone else can do her the favour of getting it for her. Their group takes to calling her the spider, and while Bucky doesn't meant to the first time, he picks it up too, but in Russian: Паук. He isn’t even sure when he first called her that. He doesn’t remember it the same way he remembers the first time she called him James. But it sticks. 

Steve’s eyebrows had flung somewhere shy of the stratosphere the first time he heard her call him by his given name and noticed he didn’t correct her.

“Shut up, _Captain America_ ,” he’d hissed back, because he wasn’t above a well aimed cheap shot when it came to his best friend.

“I didn’t say anything,” he’d shot back, hands in the air and that falsely innocent expression that always worked on old ladies and teachers but was far from effective when it came to Bucky. “I just think it’s remarkable, _James_ , when all you ever did was curse at anyone who’d call you that, _Jimmy_ , all through high school, _Jim_ , when it turns out, _Jay_ , that you don’t mind it, _Jimbo.”_ He’d probably would have continued it if it wasn’t for the fact that Bucky’s well aimed elbow to his side left him breathless.

“Shut the fuck up, punk” he’d rolled his eyes.

“Jerk,” Steve had croaked back, never one to let someone else have the last word.


	2. Pizza

Bucky’s life goes on. He dates around a bit but nothing sticks. Dot’s the only one that could be called something adjacent to long term. He meets her at a coworker’s wedding, of all places. A cute freckles-less redhead. There hadn’t been any promises or forevers, on either side. It lasts about half a year, and it’s fun. They have fun together. She’s great company and the sex isn’t bad, but there’s nothing else beyond that and they both realize it at some point. When they part is with no hard feelings. He never introduces her to his family formally and neither does she.

He gets a new job at Stark Industries and meets Tony Stark, who for some unfathomable reason takes a liking to him after he reads him to filth for almost blowing up a lab when he got sloppy from sleep deprivation. The boss’ attention basically means he gets called away from his _actual_ work to his labs at every other moment to hear him ramble about a particular bit of machinery that is bothering him. The pay is good and he likes the work, so he can’t really complain.

It does lead to some unreal moments, though.

One day, he gets to work to find an array of black SUVs and extra security personnel parked in the entry to the Tower. He gets through with his normal credentials but with a couple extra pairs of eyes on the back of his neck. He’s meant to meet Tony in the penthouse for some undisclosed reason, though he supposes it has something to do with that prosthetic project they are developing.

The elevator doors open to the spacious living space and at first glance he can already see Tony sitting on the large couch with his back towards him.

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” he says with a glance up at the camera in the corner of the elevator. He doesn’t exactly know if it changes anything whether he thanks the AI or not, but as the sci-fi nerd that he is, he’d rather play it safe and be nice to any AI or robot he comes across in his life. Maybe when they rebel and take over humanity they’ll be merciful with him in exchange. If there’s any place where sentient AIs could happen, it’s at Stark Tower.

“You’re welcome, Bucky Bear,” the woman-adjacent voice replies smoothly. He sighs but doesn’t correct it, he’s given up in trying to fix that. Any time he asks to be called something else, Tony just programs it back.

"Hey, Stark, what is up with all that security outside?” He asks as he walks in. “Who is Pepper meeting with? The Pope or something?"

“Well, that’s a bit far off,” Stark replies as he turns towards him. “Though I gotta say I don't think the Pope can handle his liquor-"

"Or your annoying ass," a second voice pops in from the other side of the couch and Bucky looks over to the man he’d failed to notice from the elevator. It takes him a moment to register who it is. He blinks slowly at the man, awestruck, not completely sure he’s quite fully awake.

"Or my annoying ass,” Stark amends goodnaturedly and continues, “quite as well."

"That's Senator Rhodes," Bucky points out nonsensically.

"That's what the American people said a couple years ago," Senator Rodhes says with a smile as he stands up and extends his hand for a shake, what seems like a genuine smile on his face. "But we're among friends now, Rodney is fine."

"Or, honeybear. I call him that, that works too," Tony interjects, never one to accept being left out.

"No it doesn't, Tones."

"James Barnes,” Bucky finds his tongue. “I work in the R&D department. It's an honour, sir. Tony, I didn’t know you knew one of the NYC Senators?" Bucky hisses at him, still reeling.

"What? No! I don't _know_ Rodney, Rodney knows _me_ . There's a hierarchy there that you’re getting wrong, Barnes." He turns around to look at his friend, "why do you do this? You're insufferable,” he huffs, Rodney merely grins. “Do you know he wasn't even surprised the first time we met? Just straight up yelled at me for doing something stupid, _immediately_. That was his reaction to meeting one of the most famous people on Earth. Called me out. That's why I liked him, but now, with you? Awestruck, look at him,” he gestures towards Bucky, who has to force himself to close his mouth which had been hanging open. “You broke him, you broke my Bucky, Rhodes. That's not nice, I'm gonna charge you for that."

It’s not that Bucky is himself a fan of politics, or even particularly invested in it for starters, but he did grow up with Steve Rogers as a best friend, so it’s not like he could conceivably be ignorant of the subject. And Senator James Rhodes is one of the few American politicians that hold Steve’s respect. Now, as he’s faced with the man himself, Bucky’s even sure he combed his hair this morning, so he’s feeling a tad disoriented. 

“Tones tells me you’re working on some project for vets?” Senator Rhodes continues, as if Stark hasn’t spoken.

The prompt works and Bucky finds familiar ground to walk on. He loves this project and he’d ramble at anyone who’d listen about it.

“Yeah, well, it’s not intended solely for veterans, but we suppose they’ll be the most benefited from it. Tony and I discovered a new way to connect neurological pathways and nerves to overly sensitive artificial nerve receptors, so in theory, we could build prosthetics that move, and work as real limbs do.”

“You said in theory,” Rhodes prods.

“Well, yeah, we haven’t been able to test them yet,” Bucky clarifies with a shrug. “Or build them yet. We’re hopeful that Dr. Helen Cho, a surgeon we have recently contacted, will bring in the input we need to get the prototypes on track.”

“Which is our next step,” Tony steps in. “But before we do that, we’d like to set up some sort of program. The prosthetics won’t be easy to make, we only have like, the ideas for prototypes so far, but most importantly, they won’t be cheap. And it really won’t be of much help if only five rich dudes can get access to them.”

“So you want founding,” Rhodes concludes easily. 

“Well, not _us_ , the eventual recipients,” Tony corrects him.

And Bucky decides this is his moment to step back because as the first numbers get thrown around, his head starts to feel dizzy. The sheer scope of the figures is beyond his grasp and there’s no way he can work that angle.

He turns around at the sound of the elevator doors opening. He’s not surprised to see Pepper walking in, dressed in one of the crisp white suits she usually dons, looking sharp and put together. Her light red hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she gives him a smile as their eyes cross.

“Mr. Barnes, lovely to see you,” she greets him with a kiss on the cheek and he replies in kind. “Is Rodney here already? I told Tony not to start the pitch without me,” she says with a huff, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Oh yeah, he’s halfway through I think,” he signals her towards the couch where the two men have taken a seat but his eyes catch on something else in the process.

He hadn’t paid much attention when Pepper had walked in and he missed not only the second pair of footsteps but also the whole other person walking in behind her.

“Oh, how rude,” Pepper comments as she realizes he’s staring behind her. “I forgot to introduce you, Mr. Barnes, this is my new assistant Natalia. Natalia, this is James Barnes, he’s an engineer and works a couple floors down usually,” she motions between them but Bucky doesn’t step forward to shake her hand or anything along those lines.

“Yeah, I know,” Natasha says with a small smile towards him before she turns back to Pepper. “We know each other.”

“You do?” Pepper’s eyebrows push into a delicate frown. “Would you look at that, what are the odds?” She muses nonchalantly before excusing herself to ease herself into the other conversation going on in the room.

“What are the odds indeed,” Natalia echoes her boss with a hint of a grin.

“Natasha, long time no see,” he shakes himself from his surprise and tries to be at least somewhat polite. 

It has been indeed a while since he last saw her, a couple months at least. Her hair is longer, past her shoulders, but still that fiery red that always surprises him when he sees it. She’s wearing a simple white button down and a black pencil skirt with heels, yet she looks incredible. He always seems to get caught off guard by how gorgeous she is everytime he sees her, it’s like his brain refuses to process it and has to reaccept it every time they met

There’s something more subdued about her than the times he’s seen her in Steve’s birthdays or on the occasional photoshoot he picked Steve up from. Nevertheless, she still manages to make Bucky feel put out in his jeans and light blue shirt. He passes a hand through his hair in a nonchalant attempt to comb it better. He isn’t sure he succeeds.

“When did you start?” he asks.

“Just last week, still learning the ropes,” she shrugs.

“You’ll do great, Miss Potts is a nice woman. I doubt she’d be a bad boss.”

“She’s been great so far,” she nods with a smile and her phone chimes in her hand. “Getting used to the Tower is the hardest part, I think.” She types as she keeps talking, “it’s huge and I live in Queens so I have no idea where anything is here in Manhattan,” her lips twist in a displeased expression.

“I could show you around,” Bucky offers without thinking. “I know all the best places to eat around here, where’s cheap, where’s good,” he shrugs and offers a smile. “What’s overpriced hipster shit and what’s actually worth the money.”

She looks up from her phone and eyeballs him for a few seconds, weighing in her options before she nods.

“Sure, how about lunch today? I have my break at twelve on the dot.”

Bucky for once had actually brought food from home, it’s sitting on a tupperware on the kitchen’s fridge on his floor. It only takes him a second to make his decision. His wallet can take a lunch out, he reasons.

“Yeah, I can take my break then. Do you avoid any food in particular?” He asks, because she’s still a model as far as he knows and probably keeps a very strict diet and-

“No cheeseburgers, if possible,” she replies with a wrinkled nose. Bucky has to hold in his outraged gasp. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she waves her hand at him in acknowledgement of the blasphemy she just uttered. “An affront to the American way and whatever, I’m just not that into them.”

He chuckles and raises his hands in a placating gesture, “alright, no cheeseburgers of any kind, promise.”

She gives him that minimum smile, the one that only takes up the corner of her mouth and looks back to the other occupants of the room. All three of them are immersed in an argument, Pepper and Tony sitting together facing Rhodes. It’s not heated but there’s definitely some heavy convincing going on.

“I should probably head to my floor. I do get paid to work, not to fool around with Tony’s projects,” he starts toward the elevator and hits the corresponding button. He doesn’t bother to say goodbye to the older trio, they’ve probably already forgotten he’s there.

“See you at twelve in the lobby doors?” Natasha asks for confirmation as the doors start to close.

“Twelve on the dot. Lobby doors,” he repeats, only barely managing to swallow the ‘it’s a date’ he feels like adding. _Because it’s not_ , he scolds himself with an eye roll, unsure where the thought even came from, _I’m just showing her around, being a good coworker (friend?), nothing else._

He manages to distract himself with a particularly challenging project he’s working on for the rest of the morning and refrain himself from checking the hour every five minutes. He does it every half hour, tops. Half his mind is working on his project, rendering the models on his computer and half is cataloguing all the restaurants around the Tower by nearness, price, convenience and quickness to serve. Filtering any cheeseburger-centric ones. The list is still quite impressive. He wasn't lying when he said he knows his way around. Bucky is kind of a foodie, though he’d be caught dead before actually describing himself that way.

By 11:45 he decides on a hole in the wall pizza place. It’s Italian, owned by a family and has been there forever if the faded photos on the walls are to be believed. It doesn't get more classic New York than that. He has been avoiding it a bit lately but the pizza really is magnificent and they work fast. 

He gets down at 11:58 to find Natasha already waiting by the doors, phone in one hand and purse in the other. He finds her easily among the rest of the office drones. She looks just like any other business woman in Manhattan, at ease in her vertiginously high heels, perfectly put together and ready to take on the world. 

“Natasha, hey,” he calls her attention as he nears and she turns towards his voice.

Her lips tip into a small smile and Bucky realizes her lipstick is _very_ red. Almost the same shade as her hair in the sunlight. Almost.

“James,” she greets him and they start off on the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d start off with a classic,” he shares with a grin. “Italian pizza, the kind that has been prepared the same way for decades. It’s just a couple blocks away.”

“Start off?” She asks with a raised eyebrow and sidesteps a man talking on his phone with so much ease it looks like part of a dance. “You expect us to do this often?”

“Well,” he gulps, realizing he’d actually _had_ been expecting this to become some sort of routine and coming up empty as a reason _why_. He decides to play it cocky. “You planning on getting fired any time soon? Cause I wouldn’t recommend it. Job market as it is.”

Natasha chuckles and he breathes easier, relieved that she hadn’t been affronted.

“Don’t I know it.” They turn the corner to a less busy street and she looks at him again, “and yes, to your unspoken question, I don’t think I’d mind doing this again if I get good food out of it.”

“So, it’s off if the food’s bad?” He jokes, careful to keep the tone light.

“Well, a woman needs to have standards, Barnes,” the amusement is clear in her tone.

 _Is this flirting?_ Bucky can’t help but ask himself, _because it feels like flirting. Maybe this_ is _a date, he wonders. A casual, unplanned date with a beautiful woman I'm pretty sure has been dating the same guy for years._

The thought sours any sort of warmth that might have been blossoming inside him and freezes the grin on his face. Bucky Barnes might be a flirt, might like things casual and fun, but he doesn’t cheat. Not since he made that mistake drunk off his ass in high school and Steve read him to filth for it. He also does his best to try to not be the other man either.

Besides, he _knows_ Clint, and he’s a great guy, with some nudging he might even call him a friend sometimes. He doesn’t want to hurt him, or get in the way of what he and Nat have, which to him always seemed sort of complex in the good way. As far as he recalls, he’s never seen them go for any type of PDA beyond hugs and the occasional curling up together when they were in close company. And yet, there’s no mistaking the warmth and the affection between the two.

He opens the door to the restaurant without another word and the hostess, who he’s pretty sure is the youngest daughter of the owners, greets him with a smile.

“Hi! It’s been a while,” she grins at him and Bucky returns it.

“Hey kid, how’s it going?” He greets back and lets Natalia pass to stand next to him.

The girl’s eyes slide towards Natasha and her expression falls. She recovers quickly but Bucky has already seen it and with it was reminded of the reason why he hadn’t been back for a while.

The hostess regains her smile and with a slightly strained tone directs them to a table, “just two?”

“Yep, just two, thank you,” he replies and takes the seat.

“She thinks I’m your girlfriend,” Natasha pleasantly says when the girl has left them alone to pursue the menus.

“Yeah, she might, sorry. I come here often, but I’ve never brought anyone before,” he winces.

“No one? I’m flattered,” her tone is almost flat, but there’s one small quirk of her lips that tells him she’s not exactly annoyed. “She has a crush on you,” she continues. Her eyes don’t drift from the menu at all, but Bucky can feel her attention on him.

“You do that a lot?” He counters, deflecting as much as he can from the awkward line of interrogation. “Read people like that?”

“I’m good at it,” she expertly evades.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit intimidating, Romanoff?” He presses back, unable to fight the grin pushing at his lips.

“It’s been mentioned once or twice,” she acquiesces back. She raises her eyebrow and looks up at him, her gaze assessing. “<You didn’t reply,>” she switches to Russian smoothly and it takes him a second to catch her meaning in the new language, and another to understand why the shift. The girl is back, ready to take their orders.

“Have you two decided?” She inquires, pen over her little notebook but refusing to look at either of them directly. 

“Yes,” Natasha answers with a big smile that catches Bucky unaware. “We’ll have a half-siciliana, half-capricciosa with no ham, you like that one, right?” she checks on him, almost as an afterthought, like they’ve known each other for years and she’s just asking for the sake of asking. He can only nod in his surprise.

“<How the hell did you know that?>” He asks once the girl has taken their order and left.

“<You avoid pork,>” she says with a shrug, like that’s the explanation he’s looking for. “<I already told you, I’m good at it. Now, stop deflecting, the waitress has a crush on you,>” she presses, all traces of the easy attitude left. He wonders if he should be affronted at her insistence but honestly, he’s more mortified by the situation than anything else.

“<Yeah, she does,>” he groans, and this time she regards him with narrow eyes. “<I’ve been kind of avoiding this place because of that. She’s just a kid, you know? Subtle as a trainwreck. Last time I was here she thought she was being suave or coy, or whatever. I thought his father was going to kick me out,>” he huffs. He can feel his face getting hot with second hand embarrassment at the memory.

“<Why? Did you do anything?>” Nat asks with thigh lips.

“No!” he exclaims, language slipping with the vehemence. He clears his throat and tries again in a more subdued tone, “<no. I just treat her like a little sister. She actually _reminds_ me of my little sister, Natasha, I- just no,>” his jaw ticks with aversion at the idea. The kid is quite a few years younger than Becca is now, but she has that same bubbly, awkward energy his sister used to have when she talked to the neighbour's son. The one who liked to parade around shirtless in the summer.

Natalia hums in response and takes a sip of her glass of water, looking around the place. She seems satisfied with his answer and he gets the feeling that she has just tested him in some way. He isn’t completely sure he passed.

“How’s Clint?” He asks, because it feels like a good line of conversation to go down to. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s-” Natasha huffs and rolls her eyes, her expression fondly exasperated. “He’s good, stupid as always. You know he tried to install a new air conditioner inside the apartment the other day and somehow ended up with a sprained arm? I still have no idea how.” Bucky chuckles lightly, more than familiar with Clint’s particular brand of constant mishaps. “I’ll never understand how he can install all those rigs and things for lightning only to get injured trying to install what’s basically a box with a tube.” She rolls her eyes.

The food finally arrives and the smell has Bucky’s mouth watering in no time, with a fast thank you to the waitress he quickly digs in.

“He actually wants to adopt a dog,” Natalia continues, eyeing the pizza as she takes a few napkins. Bucky makes an encouraging sound with his mouth full, prompting her to take a slice or to keep talking. “I told him that if he wants one he’ll have to clean up after it.”

“Sounds like a long term commitment,” he says once he’s swallowed.

“What? Cleaning duties for Clint? I’ll say,” she rolls her eyes. She takes a bite of her portion and her eyes light up with pleasure at the taste.

“Getting a dog, I meant, together,” he clarifies with a puzzled frown.

“I guess,” she shrugs with unruffled nonchalance. “As long as it doesn’t get on my bed. Personally I’d rather get a cat.”

“You a cat person?” he asks, just to keep the conversation going after it falls flat while they eat.

“I think so, yeah, haven’t had either of them, though.”

“No pets growing up?”

“Not really?” she muses, “there used to be this tiny fuzzy cat back home when I was a kid. I think I fed it _once_ coming home from ballet lessons and then it would come to my window in the morning and just-” she chuckles softly, “ _scream_ , yes? Until I fed him something. My mom hated it, and we couldn’t truly keep it, not enough food to go around. I used to sneak little bits of my breakfast to it before school.” Her smile turns soft as her eyes lose focus, lost in the memory.

“So it’d scream at you to feed it _every_ morning?” he repeats.

“7am on the dot,” she confirms with a nod. “I wonder what happened to it. He disappeared one day,” her expression is too sad to be wistful but there’s some lingering warmth of her smile remaining.

“I can’t get a cat,” he fills the silence. “Steve’s allergic, it used to be worse with his asthma but it still acts up every once and again so,” he shrugs.

“That’s a shame,” her slice is gone at this point so she picks up another, primly folding it like a good New Yorker. Except she somehow manages to do it with elegance. 

“There’s always cat videos,” he shrugs and grins. “I could spend hours watching those.”

“God, yes,” she laughs. Bucky finds he likes the sound of it. It’s raspy like her voice, but broader, loser to match the until-then unnoticed tension sliding off her shoulders. “The ones where someone yells or makes a noise and they kind of-” she gestures with her hand in a sharp motion upwards, “jump up in place and fall off? God I love those.”

He chuckles along with her, “I love the ones where they knock stuff off, like, looking straight at the camera?” He imitates the dead stare and knocks the napkins aside.

“Yes! So petty.”

“You mentioned ballet, do you still do that?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I did until I left Russia, but then things got complicated here,” her tone sounds carefully dismissive as she says it. Bucky is reminded of her years ago, when she had just started in the agency and the lingering feeling he always had that there was more to her story. He doesn’t believe it’s his place to press so he lets it go. “I couldn’t find a good school so I took up other things.”

“Do you miss it?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” there’s only a hint of wistfulness in her tone. “It wasn’t really a huge dream of mine, just a way to meet other girls and spend time but I still find it beautiful.” She flutters her hand in the air dismissively and looks back at him. “How about you? Any childhood hobbies?”

“I was really into Star Wars as a kid, hasn’t really gone away though,” he shrugs. It’s not exactly a secret that he’s a sci-fi fan. He’s pretty sure she must already know, either from talking to Steve or just catching a glimpse of the poster-covered wall of his bedroom.

The conversation lulls for a second, there’s only a couple slices of pizza remaining now, though Bucky isn’t sure how that happened. The silence is interrupted by Nat’s phone vibrating on the table. She picks it up and grimaces.

“It’s already twelve thirty five,” she deflates. “I have to get back.”

“Right now?” He tries to hide the pang of _something_ that rises up in him.

“Kind of like five minutes ago actually.” He tells himself that the hint of disappointment he glimpses in her eyes is not fictional.

“Alright, you go along, I’ll stay to pay,” he gestures for her to go.

“ _James_ ,” there’s a warning tone on her voice, but he doesn’t miss the glance she steals at her phone.

“Natalia, it’s fine. I invited you. It’s your first week on the job, you can’t go around being late,” he reasons. “Take it as a welcome to the Stark team gift, or whatever,” he’s already flagged the waitress down for the tab. He chances a bit of an irreverent grin, “you can get the next one.”

“Next one, huh?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Told you I'd show you around, didn’t I? Plenty of more places to eat around here,” he says keeping his tone light and stance relaxed on his chair.

That seems to finally convince her.

“Alright,” she tosses her phone inside her purse and stands up. She takes one last look around the place and her eyes seem to catch on something. Bucky is about to look over, taking his attention out of his wallet when something in Natasha _changes_.

If you’d asked him, Bucky wouldn’t be able to describe it. It isn’t something physical per se, maybe a change of posture, or a few more degrees in the cant of her jaw, but it's also something deeper than that. Something in Natasha suddenly turns _on_.

She’s no longer a business woman or a cute, but ultimately unremarkable secretary having lunch with a friend or partner. She’s suddenly a _starlet_. Her presence in the small pizza place feels incongruent. It’s glaringly out of place. Bucky can see out of the corner of his eye how a few heads turn in her direction, eyes get caught in her generous shape and shining red hair.

Bucky finds that he’s not immune to the change either.

Natasha leans in, movements paused and sinuous. Bucky’s mouth is abruptly achingly dry.

“<Waitress’ coming over,>” she says into his ear. It takes his brain a long second to process the language shift and an even longer one to gleam what she means. She presses her lips to his cheeks in a soft, lingering kiss, so close to his mouth the cover from her hair makes it look like a kiss on the lips. “<Thank you for lunch, kitten,>” she says the endearment louder and the way she says it, velvety and full of warmth, transcends all language. There’s laughter in her voice and as she draws away, her eyes are shining with mirth.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s jaw is slacked all the way to the floor and his face is fully red.

“<You’re welcome,>” he manages to stutter out, in a marked accent that’d give his college professor a fit.

Natasha turns around, the picture of grace and comes face to face with the waitress, who’s rooted in place with the tab in hand and an expression barely concealed affront on her face.

“<Excuse me,>” she dances around the kid to avoid bumping into her and walks out. All eyes follow her out, as if drawn by a magnet.

“Your tab,” the kid smacks down the tab on the table sharply.

Feeling dazed and out of sorts, Bucky blinks at her until the meaning of her words dawns and he’s brought back to reality. He’s surprised to find his wallet still in his hands.

He doesn’t remember the walk back to the Tower.

  
  


. . .

When Bucky enters his apartment it’s to find Steve sprawled on the couch. One leg slung over the armrest, he’s too long to properly fit in it, and the other on the floor. His sketchbook is laying on the floor and a pencil has rolled a few feet away. His neck is at a sharp angle and it’s clear he fell asleep in the midst of drawing. That’s in itself a weird event, Steve tends to focus with laser accuracy when he’s creating. Bucky knows why this happened and the sight fills him with a smug vindication.

Steve had a late-night shoot and got back way too late. However, the dumbass insisted on getting up bright and early for his daily run on just a few hours of sleep, chipper as always. 

“You’re going to crash in the afternoon,” Bucky had told him over the rim of his coffee cup that morning, voice gravelly with sleep and grumpiness.

“Am not,” Steve had replied as he made his way out.

“Real mature, Rogers,” he’d shot back. “I’m not waking you up for dinner, punk” he added, voice raising as his friend got further away. The noise of the door closing was his only answer.

He considers letting him sleep on there. It’s obvious he’s going to get at least a crick in his neck from the position. That would really drive Bucky’s point home. But even as he’s walking away towards his bedroom, old worries about his friend’s crooked spine and constant back pains rise up. With a sigh, he doubles back to the couch.

“Hey, Steve,” he shakes his shoulder. “Steve, wake up, you’re on the couch.”

“Wha-” his friend’s eyes flutter open, clogged with sleep and disorientation. 

Bucky shakes him harder, but he miscalculates and Steve is less firmly lodged into the couch than he thought. His blond head makes a hollow sound as it hits the floor, one leg up to the sky and arms pinwheeling on a futile attempt to regain his balance. 

The hit disorients him and leaves him dazed. Bucky’s snorting laughter quickly wakes him up though. And he looks up at his friend with an irritated frown.

“Shut up,” he says with a petulant edge, but Bucky only smirks back at him from above.

“Get into bed, punk. I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready.”

“You gonna cook?” Steve asks as he gets up, movements jerky from his stiff muscles.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I’m in a good mood, why not?”


	3. Sushi

Bucky comes into work on his birthday, a cold 10th of March to find his cubicle occupied. By a robot.

He pauses a few paces out, frozen in his tracks at the sight of the black metal contraption. He’s early, for a change, thanks to his Mom’s birthday call that didn’t account for the time zone difference (she spent a good five minutes reminiscing about an old picture she had found of him and Steve as kids and _oh how time flew by_ and _they were both now such accomplished grown men_ and _a lot_ of other things) and Steve’s overly enthusiastic morning breakfast chat. So when he arrives, the lab is practically deserted. Bruce can be spotted by the coffee machine but as always he’s deep into his own world and not much aware of other human beings.

The robot in question is wearing a party hat on his one claw.

That’s what’s giving Bucky pause.

Robots in Stark Tower are not the extraordinary sight one might expect, much less in the R&D department where he works. No, he’s used to seeing one or two per week, being tested or just aimlessly roaming around. But never wearing a party hat, that's a first.

Bucky doesn’t trust it.

“Hi?” He greets it, steadfast in his belief to treat them with at least common courtesy.

The future ruler of the human race turns towards him with a hydraulic whine and his name comes into view.

“Hey, I know you, you’re Dum-E,” Bucky says, trying to figure out how Tony’s kid robot got all the way here.

Dum-E makes a pep that sounds tangentially questioning.

“Yeah, I’m Bucky, we met-” he starts to explain but his words get cut off as the robot makes an excited pep and it’s base suddenly explodes open with confetti. “WOAH WHAT THE F-” red and silver shiny pieces of papers rain all around him in a radio of several feet. They sway left and right, glinting from the overhead lights as they fall, placidly at odds with the thundering heart beating inside Bucky’s ribcage.

The robot keeps on squeaking along and through the red haze of panic it takes Bucky a moment to realize it’s singing.

“A robot is singing me happy birthday,” he tells the air, disbelief and a sharp edge of hysteria on his choked voice. “It’s too fucking early for this,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, headache already forming between his eyebrows as the high-pitched rendition of happy birthday keeps on. “Shut up!” He barks at it.

The answering pep sounds dejected, almost sad, as Dum-E lowers his claw and the party hat gets skewed over it, pulled down by gravity. Instant remorse ties knots in Bucky’s stomach.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, just-” he surveils his surrounding confetti mess. It’s everywhere, over the chair, his computer, the keyboard, the floor and the hallway. It’d take years to pick up by hand. 

_At least it’s not glitter_ , he still has shuddering nightmares about Steve’s glitter-filled photoshoots and the way it seems to invade the apartment when he comes back. He sighs and his shoulders slump as he gives up. 

“C’mon,” he beckons Dum-E. “Let’s return you to Tony and see if I can borrow a vacuum cleaner to fix his little prank.”

Dum-E’s claw finds his hand and they walk and roll side by side to the elevators. The robot seems to have a homing beacon for its creator, or a special access code broadcasted to the AI because FRIDAY doesn’t need to ask them where to go. The AI simply greets them and sets the elevator going.

The doors open to Stark’s main lab and the usual sound of heavy metal banging, both musical and physical slams into them. Dum-E pays it no mind and tugs Bucky forward by the hand towards Tony, who is standing by one of his work tables.

Bucky offhandedly rises a hand in the air and flicks his wrist, cutting the music off.

It takes Tony a few seconds to notice what has happened. He blinks rapidly as he extracts himself from his work and returns to the real world. He turns around with a confused frown that deepens as he catches sight of Bucky, hair still tangled with confetti and his robotic companion, who is still grasping him by the hand.

“Barnes?” He asks, looking around the place as if he’s only now noticing it. “What are you doing here? I didn’t call you, did i?”

Bucky refrains himself from rolling his eyes only barely. “No, I’m here because-” he starts but trails off as Tony’s eyes take in his appearance and expand with dawning realization.

“Is it morning already?” he asks, a thin layer of panic tinging his voice. “Oh god,” his eyes flicker to the elevators. “FRIDAY, can you stall her for a sec?” He asks the air.

“I’m afraid Miss Potts’ already used her override codes, boss,” the female adjacent voice replies, sending Tony into a tirade of expletives. 

Bucky turns around as the elevator doors open with a soft swish and Pepper, clad in one of her classic tailored suits comes out. She’s looking down at a black carpet filled with papers but looks up a couple paces in.

“Tony?” She calls out to him. As Bucky turns around to follow her line of sight, he finds Tony is nowhere to be found. “Oh, James, hi,” she greets him with a small but not cold smile.

Her mind is clearly somewhere else and Bucky starts to get the sense that he’s walked into something he is not supposed to be involved with.

“Hello, Miss Potts, how are you doing?” He greets her, letting go of Dum-E’s hand with the intent to shake hers but she just barrels on and absently drops a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m good, have you seen Tony? I need him,” she asks him but he can only shrug in answer.

“He was just here. I came looking for a vacuum cleaner to clean up his birthday prank,” he explains offhandedly.

Pepper’s eyes snap up to his, suddenly focused, “Birthday _prank_?”

“Yeah,” he gulps. “Just some confetti, on the R&D floor. I wanted to clean it…” he trails off, getting the sense that he’s not helping anyone with his explanations.

“Tony!” Pepper calls out in a sharp tone and the man stumbles out of the door to the bathroom, tugging a suit jacket over a new T-shirt. The shadows of oil stains can still be seen on his hands and his jeans are not fresh, but Bucky’s not gonna be the one to point it out. “What did I tell you about playing pranks on employees?” She pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers in exasperation.

“That they’re a lawsuit waiting to happen and to never do it again?” Tony rattles off as he fixes his collar.

“Exactly,” she agrees. “So, what on earth was the confetti rain on James?” She raises a sharp eyebrow at Tony’s confused frown.

Tony looks from her to Bucky and back again, a perplexed expression on his face before his eyes fall on Dum-E and he seems to finally notice the party hat on it.

“Oh!” His gaze snaps back to Bucky, “that wasn’t- I mean I didn’t-” he trips over his own words trying to explain something but nothing comes out clearly.

“Just-” Pepper raises her hand to halt him and sighs. “James, are you alright, hurt or otherwise?” She inquires at him with a polite tone.

“No, no, it just startled me,” he informs her.

“Alright, FRIDAY sent someone to clean that mess up and put James’ lunch along with a companion’s on the company card.”

“Miss Potts, that’s really not necessary,” he starts to protest over FRIDAY’s confirmation but she dismisses his complaints with a flick of her wrist and a warm smile.

“Take it as a birthday gift if not an apology then,” she takes Tony’s hand and starts to tug him away towards the elevators. “I hope you have a lovely birthday, James, invite someone!”

The doors close in front of the pair with Tony still halfheartedly sputtering explanations that quickly lose steam as Pepper glares at him. 

The ensuing silence of the lab is quickly taken over by FRIDAY’s voice, “Please deliver your lunch receipt at the front desk and you’ll be reimbursed if you don’t know where you’ll eat. If you do, tell me and I’ll make sure someone calls beforehand to take care of the expenses. Please do not argue, you do not have the right codes to overwrite a direct order from Miss Potts.” 

Bucky could swear the AI sounds smug.

“I-” he starts and immediately gives up. He sighs and looks down at Dum-E, whose party hat has already given into gravity and is hanging upside down on his claw. It’s inquisitive peep brings a smile to his lips. “Yeah, I know,” he pats his claw and receives a happy peep as a reply. 

* * *

Steve is in Brooklyn, way too far away to invite for a quick lunch in Manhattan; Bruce is too invested in his current project to consider stopping for a second; Hope has a conference meeting with their European branch that she can’t miss; and by then Bucky’s pretty much run out of options.

 _Not really,_ he thinks and looks at his phone with a dubious eye. He hasn’t seen Natasha in a little more than a couple weeks; last time they spoke they had agreed to grab a couple tacos of one of the food trucks that parked close to the tower, but Pepper had received an important call at the last minute and Nat had had to cancel. Not wanting to cheat her out of the opportunity, Bucky had given her the instructions to find the truck for when she had the time and had had a sad Tupperware lunch by himself in the company kitchen.

He’d gotten a text by an unknown number about an hour later that just read “tacos were great :)”. The number was now saved as Natalia in his contacts. 

He drum-rolls his fingers on the desk, fiddling with his stylus on the other hand. He chucks the stylus over the table and huffs at his racing thoughts. He takes a twirl in his office chair. 

_She probably won’t even be free_ , he rolls his eyes. 

Shoving the nervousness down, he takes his phone out and starts typing.

**Bucky:**

Lunch? My treat

Technically, Tony’s treat

The answer takes less than a minute to arrive. Natasha is glued to her phone at this point.

**Natalia:**

Why is tony ‘technically’ paying for our lunch?

Bucky is halfway through typing his answer before he realizes he’s smiling.

**Bucky:**

It’s “technically” my birthday

It’s compensation for a prank he played on me

**Natalia:**

Happy birthday!! 

Before he can reply another message arrives, this time a gif of a grumpy looking white cat knocking over a glass from the edge of a table while staring right at the camera.

**Natalia:**

Hope you have a *smashing* day

He laughs at the terrible pun, touched that she remembered their conversation about cat videos at the pizza place.

**Bucky:**

Thank you, Natalia

That’s a cute cat

**Natalia:**

Kinda grumpy

Like you

**Bucky:**

What?

I’m not grumpy

**Natalia:**

Eh…

**Bucky:**

Hey!!

Its my birthday! You're not allowed to insult me

**Natalia:**

I didn’t say it was a bad thing!

**Bucky:**

Eh….

Anyway, do you like sushi?

**Natalia:**

Never tried it, but I’m not opposed to the idea

**Bucky:**

Great, I’ve only had it a couple times but I given Tony’s paying, we might as well milk it

**Natalia:**

Pass me the address?

He texts her the name and address of the restaurant he has chosen and gets a thumbs up as a reply. They quickly arrange to meet at the Tower’s lobby at noon and he forces himself back to his work. One glance at the hour tells him he still has a couple hours until they meet, but he’s already looking forward to it.

A line on his schematic catches his attention as he’s rooting through his messy desk to unearth his stylus and he’s quickly pulled back into work mode. The prosthetics he’s been developing with Tony are giving him a lot of work, but they’re coming along by inches. Knowing they could help a lot of people in the future usually helps him get over the frustration that plagues him every time they hit a snag. 

He comes out of the zone with only a few minutes to spare and a crick in his neck. He saves his progress in a hurry and snags his jacket from the back of his chair, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. The elevator is full when he rides it down and he can’t catch a proper look of how his hair is looking, but the bun he made to keep it out of his face is still holding so it can’t be _that_ bad, he deduces. 

He finds Natasha in the same place he found her that first time, by the entry doors, fading into the crowd seamlessly. She’s wearing a white pencil skirt and a black blouse, clad in heels. He shivers just by looking at her.

“Nata, hey,” he calls out to her as he nears, the Russian form of her nickname slipping easily from his lips.

“Hey,” she greets him with an uncharacteristically big smile. “Happy birthday!”

Before he can get a word out she’s hugging him, tightly and with her arms around his waist. Instinctively he hugs her back, pleasantly surprised by her warmth, he can already feel himself smiling.

“Thank you,” he replies as she draws back a second later. The feel of the fabric of her thin blouse and her silky hair linger over his palms and he stuffs them in his pockets. To get rid of it or conserve it, he isn’t sure. “Won’t you be cold?” he inquires as they make their way out, eyeing her flimsy top and bare legs with a worried eye. “It’s in the forties outside,” he adds as they come out and a gust of frigid air slams into them. He shivers immediately, cursing the too-thin pants he has on and the muddy sludge from the latest snowfall cloying on the street.

Natasha levels a look at him, red brows softly crinkled in an amused frown. “It’s like eight degrees _Celsius_ ,” she corrects him and then flips her red hair to the side with a dismissive flick of her head, “and I’m _Russian_.”

They make it to the restaurant easily enough, and true to her word, Natasha doesn’t shiver or give any indication she’s remotely cold the whole trek. The restaurant is a simple, elegant place, not the most expensive by a wide margin (Bucky is not that much of an asshole. His Ma drilled _some_ manners into him) but still classy. They’re greeted at the entry and swiftly led to a table for two on the back. The lighting is dim and the floors and furniture is all dark wood and clean lines, some sort of ambient music filters through invisible speakers. 

As they take a seat, Natasha takes a glance at her phone, too fast to be for anything other than checking the hour or a message.

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” He asks and quickly corrects himself, “I mean, are you needed at the Tower soon?”

“No, just checking something. I told Pepper I was having lunch with you and she told me to take as long as needed. She’s having lunch with Tony and they usually take their time too,” she replies.

The waitress comes over, preventing them from saying anything else and hands them the menus. Bucky only retains a vague idea about the different types of pieces but the menu has little descriptions below them, so it’s easy for them to jog the knowledge back into accessibility. Natasha, on the other hand, looks as lost as a clown at a funeral. 

He steals a glimpse at her over the menu, biting his lip to keep from grinning at the pronounced frown and baffled expression on her face.

“The spicy tune roll is my favorite,” he inputs without taking his eyes off the menu. “It’s a classic, not the most sophisticated one but it’s good.” He looks up at her, “we could order one of those that bring a couple of different types to try them all out.”

She nods at the suggestion, instantly looking less overwhelmed, “sure, I don’t understand anything on this menu.”

“I’ll guide you through it,” he promises. “The basics aren’t hard to follow. As long as we don’t ask for a fork we’ll be alright,” he teases her. 

They place their order, going for a sushi boat that includes sashimi, nigiri and some varied maki. It’s a good mixture of the most common ones and as they wait for the order Bucky can feel himself get excited. It’s been a while since he had good sushi, between the price tag, Steve’s seafood allergies, and his Jewish avoidance of shellfish, it’s not something they feature usually in their menu.

“So, birthday, any plans?” Natasha asks as she takes a sip of her water. 

“Not really, my family is back in Indiana, Steve has been swamped with work and honestly me too. I think I'll go for a quiet night in and some indulgent binge watching,” he shrugs. He hadn’t given it much thought, that’s the truth. His birthday this year has sneaked up to him. One moment it was months away and the next, right around the corner.

“Shame, I could see you going out dancing,” she replies as she gives the chopsticks an intrigued look.

“Well, getting Steve to go out dancing is a feat in itself, I simply don’t have the energy,” he replies without thinking, not remarking how Natasha knows he likes to dance. “And I’m getting old, hangovers hit differently now.”

“Thick as thieves Steve and you, huh?” She comments.

“Grew up together and made it through different colleges. I think I’m not getting rid of that punk any time soon,” he jokes, the fondness is evident in his voice. “We’re pretty different in a lot of ways but we’ve known each other for so long it just goes beyond that, you know?”

The waitress brings their food over and their conversation morphs as he tries to explain to her the different ways to eat the sashimi and hand rolls. The hardest, and frankly the most fun part, is teaching Natasha how to use the chopsticks. Once, by sheer luck and good reflexes, he snags one of them from the air as they magically get propelled from her hand as she attempts a grip.

“Here,” he scoots closer and reaches over the table to give it back. “You have to keep your thumb like this, excuse me,” he says in an undertone and takes her hands in his to model her fingers in a secure grip.

“Like that?” She asks and clumsily manages to shift them in a clawing motion. “Oh!” She exclaims, face lighting up with triumph. 

“Exactly like that,” he congratulates her and lets go of her hands, bringing his attention back to his food with renewed interest. The chopsticks feel uncharacteristically slippery on his tingling hands. “So, sashimi is first-”

They dig in, and from the first bite, it’s obvious Natasha likes it. The chopsticks have quickly found their home in her hand and just a few pieces later she’s wielding them like a pro. Bucky has to stop her from adding the ginger to a roll once and cautions her not to bite them in half or dip them too much into the soy sauce. The wasabi seems to particularly please her, but Bucky avoids it. 

Halfway through the meal, Natasha’s phone vibrates and she startles at the sound for a fraction of a second before quickly recovering as if it was expected. Not worried, Bucky assumes it’s a call from work and keeps his attention on the spicy tuna roll he has on his grasp. 

“I'll be right back,” she tells him and waves her phone as an explanation. “Don’t eat my spicy tuna,” she threatens.

“Don’t take too long,” he shoots back before stuffing his mouth with a roll and looking at her with raised eyebrows. 

She looks at him with narrowed eyes, assessing how serious he is but whatever it is she needs to do wins out and she leaves the table. She passes him by and he assumes she must be going to the bathroom or to make a quick call.

He takes out his phone and checks to find a couple messages from his family wishing him a happy birthday. His mom has texted him the photo she told him about and added another comment about how she can’t believe how ‘her little kids’ are already close to the age to have their own kids (she has never been particularly shy about her wishes for grandchildren). His father’s message is similar, along with some stuff about how he’s so proud of him, George Barnes has always expressed himself better via the written word. Seeing Becca’s name makes Bucky smirk even before he taps it.

**Becca:**

Happy birthday B R O.

One year closer to your thirties, yay! No time like the present to start a savings account for your looming retirement! 

I hear weed-based arthritis treatments are all the rage these days, spare a gram for your little sister?

A string of old man and cigarette emojis follow, then:

**Becca:**

Send my love to Steve, aka the brother I actually like and God denied me by blood but blessed me by water

He’s chuckling as he types his answer. He misses Becca too much. She moved to Los Angeles a few years ago after she got an offer as a software developer in some tech company he always forgets the name of and her absence is felt. It was the same year his parents retired to Indiana and he was left alone in New York. He’s close to his family and they keep in touch but he misses their Shabbat dinners a lot more than he’s willing to admit. He might grumble about the trip but he’s looking forward to spending Passover with them this year in a couple weeks.

**Bucky:**

Thank you, Becca

All this is why you’re my least favorite sister

He just hit send on a longer string of baby emojis when quiet singing grabs his attention, he turns around to follow the sound and finds Natasha a few paces away walking back to their table.

“<Happy birthday to you,>” Natasha’s voice is low and raspier than normal. “<Happy birthday to you,>” Bucky’s confused frown dissolves as he recognizes the Russian version of happy birthday and he starts chuckling. “<Happy birthday to you, dear Yakov.>” She rounds the table and he can see her smiling as she continues, “<Happy birthday to you,>” she comes to stand next to him and hands him a blue plastic bag that he had somehow failed to see in her hand. “<Happy birthday, Yakov,>” she wishes him and gives him a light kiss on the cheek.

“<Nata,>” he admonishes her even as he starts to open the bag. “<You shouldn’t have.>”

“<Nonsense,>” she dismisses his worries with a flick of her fingers and sits back down. “<It really is a shame that your birthday is only once a year,>” she winks at him and Bucky chuckles at the reference. He’d heard about Gena the crocodile during his time abroad. The character was from an old and beloved Russian child show that had a birthday song with that line. While a bit morose, the song was pretty nationally known. Natasha waves her hand to motion him to open the gift, “I hope I got the size right.>”

“<Size?>” He asks her, but the answer is clear when he produces a cream colored t-shirt from the bag. There’s some sort of design in green in the front and he grabs it from the shoulders to look at it properly. “Oh my god,” he barks out a surprised laugh. “I love it! How did you know?” He asks, already trying to think back on their conversations and if he ever mentioned his love for Sci-Fi pulps and Edgar Rice Burroughs in particular.

The t-shirt is printed with a drawing of one of the green Martians from The Princess of Mars. The creature has four arms, the two lower ones holding crossed sables while the upper ones are frozen in a becoming motion. In spidery script below it reads ‘Join the Thark Side’ making a play of words between the classic slogan and the name of the most famous clans featured in the book. 

“I had to guess the size, but you can change it, if it doesn’t fit. The receipt is there,” she says as he lowers the shirt and she comes back into view.

“It looks good in size, and there’s no way I’m changing the design. Seriously, how did you know?” He prods, genuinely intrigued as much as he is delighted at the gift. “Did you talk to Steve? Or is this another one of those times you somehow know too much?” He barrels on, “do you read minds? Hack into people’s Google search? Are you secretly Alexa?” She’s laughing now, clearly proud of having hit the nail on the head with her gift and amused at his bafflement.

“Alianova, not Alexa,” she corrects him with a wink and a teasing smirk that doesn’t reveal anything about his previous questions. She proceeds to take a roll and eat it whole with a grace that would make anyone bet she grew up around sushi and not had just tried it for the first time.

“Seriously, Nat, I love it. Thank you,” he thanks her in a more serious, sincere tone and she shrugs minutely even as her lips quirk into a small, pleased smile.

He looks back at the design and chuckles again before putting the t-shirt back into the bag by his feet.

“So, how was your first experience with sushi?” He asks her as they get ready to leave, meal paid for and tipped already.

“Phenomenal,” Nat replies with shining eyes and a lingering look at the bar where the chef can be seen cooking. “I think I might have found a new favourite of mine.”

“Well, not all of it is as good as this one,” he warns her as he opens the door for her. Cold wind hits his cheeks and he shivers. Natasha, instead, walks out to the street as if it were a sunny, lovely day. He can’t help shooting an envious look in her direction. “Might have started with the bar too high.”

“You spoil me,” she teases as they start to make their way back to the Tower.

“Well, you _did_ say the food had to be good,” he reminds her.

“And you have yet to disappoint,” she recognizes. “Those tacos from the other day were _sooo_ good,” she says in a dragged out, passionate tone and he laughs. “I took a couple home for Clint and the twins, I almost didn’t want to give them away” 

“I’m glad you liked them.” A woman walking on her phone loudly walks right into them and splits them apart, not caring for a second where she’s going. Bucky resists the New Yorker instinct to yell at her his complaints, deeming it not worthy. When they reunite, Natasha sneaks her arm around his elbow and holds on so they can’t be separated again. “How’s the office? Pepper is always going from one place to the other, must be active work being her assistant.”

“Yeah, it’s not that much of a desk job as I expected, but it’s kind of fun. I actually enjoy it. The hours can be a bit restrictive for my modelling work but Nick’s alright with it.”

“Nick?” He asks with a frown.

“Nick Fury,” she expands and he understands.

“Fury is the boss, right? Of _Avengers Agency_?”

“Yep, Maria is the one that usually deals with us, but Fury likes me so I get some special treatment,” she winks at him.

“Do you like it, modelling?” He asks her, intrigued.

She takes a second to answer.

“Yeah,” she starts, “It might be what I want to do for the rest of my life, but it does not always pay the bills, especially in New York.”

“Don’t I know it,” he commiserates. “New York is _so_ expensive to live in.”

“Ever consider moving?”

“I-” he takes a deep breath of cold air. The smell of wet pavement, car exhaust and garbage is thick as always in the air. The shuffling masses of people shift around them, thousands of people walking together but giving no consideration to the one next to them for more than the second it takes to dodge them. The yellow cabs honk on the street and scream at each other without a second thought. Bucky takes it all in, thinks about his parents in Indiana living the quiet retired life, and of his sister in Silicon Valley, coding the next big social media app in sunny beaches and under the shades of palms trees. He shrugs, “I thought about it, but I can’t, I’m too much of a New Yorker.”

The honest admission makes Natasha smile. They’re nearing the Tower already and Bucky finds he’s disappointed at the lonely prospect of the rest of the workday. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” he says as he realizes he hasn’t said it yet. “I liked the company, and the gift is really great. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Sure I did. I’m glad you liked it,” she replies as they stop outside the Tower, lingering before they have to come in and part ways. “And thank you, you introduced me to even more amazing food. You’re full of great suggestions, might have to keep you around, Yakov,” she teases him and Bucky finds his name in Russian does something to him when she says it. Whatever _it_ is, Bucky is going to pointedly not analyze it.

He shifts his weight to another foot. It’s cold outside, and they should probably get in already, but he’s not sure he wants to. He searches for something else to stall but before he can get an idea, Natasha looks over his shoulder and her cheery expression falls.

Gone is the shine in her eyes and the soft, teasing smile in her lips. Instead, she looks… _pissed_. Confused about the sudden change, Bucky starts to turn around to follow her line of sight but she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“<Can you pretend to be my boyfriend for a sec?>” Natasha hisses at him in urgent Russian.

“What?” Bucky replies automatically, convinced he’s heard wrong.

“<Pretend to be my boyfriend for a moment? To get a douchebag of my back,>” she urges him and Bucky can only gape at her, thrown by the suggestion. She huffs before looking up at him with a pleading expression, “<You owe me? From the pizza place?>”

“<What about Clint?>” Bucky finds his voice and asks in a squeaky, panicked tone.

“<I mean, it could work,>” she says and every sentence is only making Bucky even more confused. “<but he’s not exactly intimidating material at first glance.>”

“<Yeah, well, but he’s the real deal, isn’t him?>” he counters back.

“<Wait,>” Natasha frowns before peering up at him. “<Do you… think I'm dating _Clint_?>”

“Yes?” Bucky says, wanting to sound convinced but instead making it a question.

“<Oh god, you’re->” Natasha rolls her eyes, something like a disbelieving laugh coming out of her mouth before it gets choked out. “<Douche’s coming over, can you help me out or not?>“

“Eh-” he flounders for a second but Natasha has appealed to his sense of chivalry and it's very effective. He swallows his unclear reservations. “<Yeah, sure, what should I do?>”

“<I don't know, kiss me goodbye?>” She urges him by trailing her hands up his arms to his neck as she steps into his personal space. There’s a glint in her eye as she looks up to him, it makes her next words sound like a challenge, “<and make it believable.>” 

“<Believable?>” he repeats back at her, getting on with the program. The same shift from the pizza place has taken place in Natasha. Even as close as they’re standing Bucky can feel the way she pulls the attention into herself. It’s in the knowing glint of her eye, on the hand she places on his neck and the twitch at the corner of her red lips. Bucky’s eyes travel down to her smile at their own volition, guided by an unnamed force he’s not sure he wants to unveil. He finds himself leaning in, one hand on her waist and the other coming to entangle in the fiery red strands of her hair before he can process it. “<I’ll give you believable,>” he mutters. 

The white mist from his breath mixes with Nat’s for a millisecond before he brings their lips together.

He shouldn’t have worried about selling it, because the second their lips touch, Natasha is leaning in with everything she’s got and he finds it’s incredibly natural to match her in the intensity. His hand cradles her head and the soft tangles of her curls intertwine between his fingers. Her own hand finds his bun and disarms it with surprising ease. The pull on his hair wretches an involuntary sound from Bucky’s throat. In any other situation he would feel self conscious with this level of PDA but the street is busy, it’s New York and Natasha is kissing him and _oh god he doesn’t want her to stop-_

When Natasha pulls apart it takes Bucky a second for his brain to stop him from trailing after her lips. He feels dizzy, detached from his surroundings and kind of _floaty_. He inhales as the lack of oxygen catches up with him and the sharp winter air brings him down to earth. He blinks rapidly in reflex, trying to clear the fog and Natasha comes into focus before him. He barely catches her glance at him before she looks over his shoulder. Tension materializes on the corners of her green eyes, only perceptible from how close he is, even as her lips pull into a smile.

“<He’s still coming,>” her irritation is hidden under a soft whisper and Bucky blanks for a few seconds before the Russian words register on his foggy brain.

“Romanoff,” a male voice leers from close by. “How is it going?”

Bucky doesn’t recognize the voice but the tone alone is enough to realize Natasha wasn’t exaggerating with ‘douche’. He lets his hand fall away from her head and turns around slowly, making his best to sculpt his face into a glare.

“Hello,” he greets the man coldly. He’s white, average height and dark haired, he’s smirking crookedly, in what he probably thinks is an attractive way that Bucky finds irritating. “I’m James, Nat’s boyfriend.”

The man tries to ignore him, but his extended hand and flat glare force him to acknowledge him. Their handshake is a showdown. Bucky would roll his eyes at the way the guy squeezes his hand but he’s too busy squeezing back. He might not agree with the principle and find it ridiculous, but he knows he needs to play along just this time.

“Roman,” the guy says and his jaw twitches in lieu of a wince. “I work with Nat.”

Bucky highly doubts it.

“Really? She’s never mentioned you,” his confused frown could only barely pass as genuine. “I’m at the R&D department, I’ve never seen you around,” he digs in, head cocked to the side.

“I- Well,” the man frowns, bravado flagging.

“<Walk me inside?>” Natasha asks Bucky, not even sparing a glance towards Roman. She smiles softly at him, and if he wasn’t looking at her eyes from so close, he’d believe there was nothing but pleasantness in them. As it is, he can see the irritation and frustration pooling on them.

“<Absolutely, kitten,>” the endearment echoes hers and Nat’s lips twitch. He puts some space between them, still maintaining his hand on her back to keep up the ruse. Besides that reason, Bucky also needs to put some distance between them so her lips, even redder than before, aren’t quite so close. He forces himself to smile, to loosen his shoulders and start guiding them towards the Tower’s doors, totally ignoring Roman. “<I have to go in too, yes?>” he says as he passes the guy, who’s staring at them with a put out frown. He can feel the tension riding high in her shoulders. 

_What the fuck is it with this asshole?_ He asks himself as he shoots him one last pointed look and the guy gulps. 

Natasha walks with her head high on his side, still drawing looks from all genders as they make the last steps to the entry doors.

“<I don’t know if you forgot, but I do actually have a job, I’m not just your personal food critic,>” he adds, trying to get a smile out of her.

“<Oh but you’re so good at it,>” Nat remarks with a fake pout as they finally enter the Tower.

The lobby is as always scattered with people walking from one side to the other, all of them deep in their conversations and assorted electronic devices. They still draw a few looks, though Bucky can tell that whatever Natasha does to stand out she’s stopped doing it. He can’t quite put his finger on it, he doubts he’ll ever can, but it’s fascinating. 

“<Is he really that much of an asshole?>” he asks after he has dropped the receipt at the welcome lobby. She looks at him for a second before answering.

“<Just annoying for now, but I’ve already rejected his invitations twice and he won’t back down. I can take care of myself and I could easily take care of him in any other setting, but I need this job, so I needed a more… _delicate_ approach,>” she explains to him as they wait for the elevator to arrive along with a couple more people.

“<I don’t know if I’d call that _delicate_ ,>” he chuckles and Natasha gives him a raised eyebrow. He clears his throat as the elevator arrives and they board it. “<Are we alright?>” He asks her in an undertone. He doubts anyone in the enclosed space happens to speak Russian but just to be sure.

“<Sure,>” she replies with a shrug. She looks up at him and smirks, “<what's a kiss between friends?>“

He chokes on a laugh, “<I don’t exactly make a habit out of making out with my friends.>”

“<Is that what we are?>” She retorts and Bucky gets the feeling that the conversation is going places he’s not sure he knows the way back from.

“<I’d like to think so,>” he cautiously reveals. Natasha’s expression is almost impenetrable, only the hint of a smirk on her lips

“<Pity,>” she says and lets her eyes roam over him. “<And here I thought we were dating.>”

She gives him a wink and before Bucky can process what’s going on or those implications, the doors have opened and she’s striding out, heels clicking against the floor and hair swaying along with her movements.

“<Happy birthday again, Yakov,>” she wishes him without turning around. It’s not necessary though, Bucky can perfectly picture the teasing smirk he hears in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [t-shirt design](https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/80408-join-the-thark-side)


	4. Chopsuey, Almond Chicken and Rice Noodles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for alcohol consumption and 6 Underground trash talking (not saying it's not enjoyable but it really is terrible). And we get to a next stage of a certain tag.

It doesn’t take long for the ball to roll and for the rest of the office to find out about their supposedly new status. Bucky is frankly more surprised by his naivité in believing that it wouldn’t happen. Stark employees love to gossip. All in all, it’s not very annoying: a couple comments there and there, some looks. Thankfully, his coworkers are all in committed relationships or too into their work to care for much of anyone else’s love lives so he doesn’t get many proving questions on the daily. Even as he finds himself spacing out for irregular periods of time mid-render and comes back to earth with a buzzing in his skin and lips tingling at the memory of Nat’s kiss.

Some slimy assholes invite him for some drinks after work one day and proceed to batter him with questions about what it’s like to date a model. And is Natasha as hot as she seems without the makeup. And does the carpet mat- Bucky doesn’t even finish his first drink before he’s taking his coat and after a few choice words, his leave.

He’s on the subway platform on his way back, fiddling with his phone when he finds himself opening their message chain.

**Bucky:**

Why are people so gross?

The reply comes as he’s hopping into the car.

**Natalia:**

by people you mean some straight white cis men?

He thinks back to the group he went out with and types back his answer.

**Bucky:**

I did actually mean that

**Natalia:**

then I have a few theories.

He chuckles at the dry tone of the text.

**Bucky:**

Care to enlighten me?

**Natalia:**

can’t rn

i’m in a shoot

in brooklyn actually

**Bucky:**

Oh, really? Which part?

I’m just on my way back from the city

**Natalia:**

bed-Stuy

do you wanna do something? I’m about done here

Clint’s not gonna be home tonight, if you feel like doing the trek to Queens we can order some food, my treat this time, and I’ll share those theories w you

Bucky stares at his screen for a few seconds as the car rattles on over the tracks. He doesn’t have anything to do and while the trek to Queens and back might be a bit of a pain in the ass, it  _ is  _ Friday. 

**Bucky:**

Sounds great

Where’s the studio?

A couple more subway stops and a line change, he finds himself in front of an industrial building with a sign reading ‘Roxxon Studio’. The air is cold as he shifts in place and checks it’s the right place. There are no windows in the front, just a big gray garage door.

**Bucky:**

I think I’m outside

**Natalia:**

come to the side door, around the corner 

it’s white

He turns around the corner and easily finds it, there's a green exit door sign over it. He gently raps his fingers against it, not knowing what else to do. Natasha swings open the door a second later and music comes pouring out. The place inside is big, practically barren except for the equipment, people walk around with headsets and tablets, the flash of the camera lights the whole place every other second and the low murmur of people talking is barely heard over the heavy bass playing on the speakers.

“Hey,” Nat greets him and ushers him inside. “Security needs you to turn off your phone, by the way.”

“What, why?” he asks bewildered.

“It’s policy for underwear shoots in the studio,” she explains as she waves a burly-looking man in dark clothing over.

“Underwear shoots…?” Bucky trails off as he looks around the place better, his view of the model being photographed is blocked at the moment but as he looks on he can see a few women clad in black robes. He looks at Natasha and finds she’s also wearing one of the robes, cinched at the waist with a belt, legs bare and slippers on her feet.

“Who’s this?” the security guard demands as he nears, looking like he’s not open to jokes.

“This is my boyfriend James,” Natasha lies and Bucky’s eyes snap to her. “He’s here to pick me up but he made it a bit early.”

“Miss, you know our policy is no third parties at the studio during shoots,” he says, not taking his glare completely away from Bucky.

“I know,” Nat says with an embarrassed smile. “But he’s already here and it’s so cold out. He promised to turn off his phone while he’s inside, he’ll even give it to you if that’s what you want,” she cajoles as Bucky tries to not let out that this is news for him. He nods at the man and takes out his phone, already pressing the power button to turn it off. “And this is five minutes away from finishing,” Nat presses on with a sweet voice and the man’s glower starts to soften. “It’s just for a few minutes, Lee, please?” 

Lee seems startled that Natasha knows his name, but evidently pleased. With one last glare at Bucky he turns toward Natasha, expression softening.

“Alright, Miss. I can see he already turned it off but make sure it stays that way. No one here wants any trouble. These protocols are there for a reason.”

“Of course,” Nat nods eagerly and slips her hand into Bucky’s, who mimics her assent and slips his dead phone into his jacket pocket. 

“Nat, what the fuck?” he hisses at her as she leads him away from the guard and towards a cluster of low couches on the other side of the room.

“What?” she shoots back, one eyebrow raised.

“You didn’t warn me it was an underwear shoot!”

“Should I have?” 

“Yes?!” He exclaims, exasperated before lowering his tone back down. “Most people are not used to walking into a room filled with people on their underwear!”

“We’re wearing robes,” she points out, infuriatingly unperturbed.

“ _ She’s _ not,” he gestures at the woman being photographed at the moment, who’s clad in white lingerie and posing on a small white couch as the director gives her pointers.

“Well, the rest of us are. And honestly I thought you might enjoy the experience,” she shrugs as they finally make it to the couches. He raises an eyebrow at her, his exasperation reaching new heights.

“Oh yeah, I totally would, if I wasn’t here with my  _ girlfriend _ ,” he hisses back and raises their linked hands to make a point. 

“Ah, are you mad I cockblocked you?” she hazards a guess, expression still frustratingly impassive.

“I-  _ No _ , that’s- Jesus,” he sighs and lets go of her hand to plop on the couch. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands over his face and hair. “That’s not it, Nata. I was just surprised, is all. A warning would have been nice, that’s all I’m saying. And besides, I’m here to go home with you, not like I can pick up a hookup, huh?”

“You can still get their numbers,” Nat shrugs again and shoots a telling look across the place. Bucky follows her line of sight and finds one of the models looking at him with a sharp, appreciative smile. She’s a gorgeous woman, that’s undeniable, yet he finds himself apathetic. He finds he’s not willing to make the effort for it to go somewhere. He’s just-- not interested. 

And well, brunettes were never really his thing. He much prefers redheads. 

He gives her an awkward, small smile and turns back to Natasha. She’s already gone ahead and lowered herself into one of the couches. She’s sprawled into the seat, both legs over the armrest and is drawing a used paperback along with a pack of sunflower seeds from a bag that had been laying next to it. The paperback is in cryllic, so he can’t read the title, it’s brown and green with some bearded old dude on the cover. She wordlessly offers him the seeds but he shakes his head, he was never a particular fan of them. A slipper dangles from one of her feet and she bounces the leg lightly to make it bob. Her robe has gotten displaced with the shift in gravity and fallen open to reveal a strong, creamy thigh and the spiky edges of a dark green lace bra in her cleavage.

“How longer will this go?” he asks her and leans back onto the seat, snapping out of his unplanned contemplation. 

“Half an hour tops. The editor is already going over the rest of the photos so she just needs to confirm she has everything she needs and that’s it,” she tells him without taking her eyes from the page.

“Alright,” he nods and lets his eyes roam over the room.

There's cables and pieces of scenography laying around the room, people go back and forth, watching screens and following directions. It's a lot busier than Bucky would have expected. He idly wonders how Steve acts in these scenarios. He has picked him up for a couple shoots a few times over the years but never actually went into one. As vain as Bucky is, he doesn’t think he could take being thrusted into a spotlight like that and have someone shoot photo after photo of him until he was blinded. He’d probably turn out looking like a deer caught in headlights.

He drums his fingers over his knee, already bored with the scenery and coming to terms with the fact that he might be a bit more addicted to his phone than he’s been willing to admit. He briefly considers asking Natasha if she has another book in her bag but doesn’t feel like interrupting her reading. 

“Miss Romanoff,” a voice calls out as the music gets lowered. The model is already leaving the set and putting on her robe.

Natasha looks up from her book and swings her legs back to the floor. Her robe flutters around her as she stands up and walks to the woman Bucky presumes is the editor. He watches them talk for a bit before the editor nods at Natasha. Bucky expects her to come back to her seat but instead she starts to pick at the knot holding her robe together. A sharp, piercing whistle cuts through the noise and silence falls promptly on the room.

“Group shot, c’mon everyone!” The editor yells. “Five minutes tops!”

As one, the rest of the models start to discard their robes, moving towards the shooting area and leaving them strewn around the place.

Bucky gulps. He really wishes he had his phone on him to have somewhere solid to put his eyes.

The models get efficiently placed on a line, divided in half and directed to oppose each other. The camera flashes and Bucky finds his attention inevitably called towards the light.

Natasha’s dark green set contrasts against her creamy skin and makes her hair look even more brazen than normal. He wonders if it’s fair to the other models to make them pose together when she alone looks so incredible. Then again, maybe he’d be able to tell if he could take his eyes off her for a second to see what the rest  _ actually  _ look like. 

True to her word, the group shot takes barely five minutes and quickly enough the editor points out some things on her tablet and calls the shoot to an end. 

Natasha picks back her robe from where she left it, not breaking stride or her conversation with a colleague and makes her way back to Bucky.

“Give me a minute to change and I’ll be back, yes?” She checks with him and snags her bag from the floor without stopping. He nods at her even though she didn’t stay to hear his answer. She heads towards what Bucky supposes are the changing rooms along with the rest of the women. 

She comes out a couple minutes later, wearing jeans and a light jacket. She says a quick goodbye to the rest of the models and some members of the crew she seems to know and they make their way out. As soon as they’re on the street, Bucky sorely misses the heating from the studio. The sky is starting to darken already and the sun doesn’t break through the buildings to give them even a modicum of warmth.

“So, where next?” He asks her as they set off down the street. He doesn’t know her address besides somewhere on the margin of Queens and Brooklyn.

“We have a couple stops and a line change then a couple more blocks walking to the complex, think you can take it?” She turns around and walks backwards, looking at him with a challenging smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes at her taunt and draws one of his hands from his pocket to grab her arm and turn her around, “Stop walking like that, you’ll slip and break that pretty head of yours.”

“Aw, you think my head is pretty, James?” She teases again, dancing outside of his reach. “Watch out, a girl could get used to that kind of talk.”

He laughs and makes another aborted attempt to grab her but she dodges him with a twirl, “ _ right _ , cause compliments must be such a rarity in your life.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” she says in an innocent tone. She takes a step closer to him and looks up at him with big eyes, voice deceptively innocent, “do you  _ really  _ think I’m pretty, James?”

He rolls his eyes, “it’s like you’ve forgotten the first time we met.”

Natasha’s innocent expression breaks as she frowns in confusion, like she’s trying to recall the memory and actually having trouble with it.

“Steve’s birthday?” He prompts and urges her to continue walking. The subway stop is half a block away and he’s looking forward to the stuffy heat of the underground, as disgusting as it is. “You were in the kitchen, on the counter I think, I talked to you in honestly  _ appalling  _ Russian in an attempt to impress you,” he cringes at the memory. He can feel the ghostly burn of the vodka in his throat.

They go down the stairs and get to the platform just as the car is getting there. They board along with everyone else as Natasha continues to look puzzled.

“Do you really don’t remember at all?” He asks as the car takes off.

“Did you- did you have short hair then?” She asks, looking up at him with a critical eye, as if trying to imagine him with it.

“I did actually. It was the year I started to grow it out, I think.” He thinks back, it was right around when Steve started modelling, so it sounds about right. He hadn’t gotten his job at Stark Industries yet but they had already had their current apartment.

“I think I remember,” Nat says, sounding unconvinced. “I was still learning English then, so it was hard to make sense of things.” 

“Right. Probably for the best you don’t remember, it was embarrassing as hell,” he laughs.

“No, now I wanna remember. You say it was Steve’s birthday?” She takes her phone out and starts to scroll on it.

“Seriously forget about it, I make better second and third impressions. Do you come to Brooklyn often?” He changes the subject. Natasha shoots him a look that says she knows what he’s doing but indulges him anyway.

“Yep, there’s a lot of studios there, lots of shoots.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do, it’s nice, bit more active than Queens at least, but not overwhelming like the city. You grew up here, right?”

“Born and raised brooklynite,” he nods with a proud smile. “Even for college I didn’t go far, couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Where did you go?” Predictably, she asks.

“Cornell College, it’s only a few hundred miles away.”

“Is it a good university?”

“They took  _ me  _ in, so I don’t know,” he jokes.

“What did you study?”

“Engineering, with a specialization in electronics.”

She nods for a second as if that makes sense and then taps his arm to indicate they’re at their stop. They dash out of the car and straight into the next one, squishing themselves past the doors right as they close. 

“What were you reading? At the studio? I can’t read cryllic so I couldn’t tell,” he asks to keep the conversation going.

“Oh, it’s-” she starts but gets stuck. “Ah!  _ Fuck  _ it’s-” she snaps her fingers as she searches for the word. Bucky looks at her amused, with absolutely no idea of what word she’s looking for. “Like the opposite of dark-”

“Light?” he guesses.

“No, it’s-  _ White! _ ” She exclaims as she finds the word, eyes lit up with triumph. “White Nights by Dostoevsky. It’s a short story, a classic, do you know it?”

“Sounds very familiar, but I never learned to read Russian, just speak it. What is it about?”

“It’s about this man without a name who is lonely and falls in love with a woman, but it’s unrequited because she’s in love with someone else,” she summarizes.

“Cheery,” he deadpans. 

“If you want happy endings go watch Disney.”

“I will, more than happily,” he declares.

“Seriously?” she laughs.

“If you think I could grow up with Steve Rogers in his animation phase and not learn all the classic Disney movies by heart you’d be  _ very  _ wrong,” he says. 

Natasha’s laugh is warm, truly delighted at the discovery. The car comes to a stop and she stands up, gesturing to him to follow her out.

The trek to her apartment is only a few blocks, but the wind has picked up and it bites through his clothes. Bucky alternates between swearing and shivering the whole way as Natasha, of course, looks completely at ease in her light jacket and loose jeans.

“You said Clint wouldn’t be here tonight? Why not?” He asks as they finally go inside and away from the frigid wind.

“He has a two day shoot in the city, so he’s staying with a friend there instead of making the whole trek back and forth. He even took Lucky.”

“Oh, he works in a lightning crew, right?” He seeks confirmation and she hums her assent as they start up the stairs. “Is that how you met?” He wonders aloud to keep their conversation going.

“Yes,” Nat’s reply is short and the tone doesn’t invite further questioning. Bucky decides not to prod as she walks into the hallway and gets to opening the second door to finally let them into her apartment. 

The place she shares with Clint is nice, simple, if a bit messy. The furniture is a mismatch of new, old and maybe even salvaged. There’s fur on everything, Lucky’s light yellow hair that Bucky just knows will cover him from head to toe as soon as he sits on something.

“Want a beer?” Nat offers as she goes to get one for herself.

“Sure, what do you have?” She shows him the type without turning around from the fridge and he takes it.

“There’s a great Chinese place close by we could order at,” Nat proposes and hops into the counter. “They have really good rice noodles,” she comments and sways her bottle before taking a sip.

Bucky settles in front of her, his own beer in hand. The memory of their first meeting is fresh in his mind from their subway conversation and the setting reminds him of it again. Back then it had been vodka, not beer. Also, his and Steve’s kitchen is wider than this one. Here there’s barely any space between them now. One step forward and he’d be standing between her knees. He washes that thought away with his own sip of beer.

“Sounds good. I like Chinese food, noodles especially,” he nods distractedly as he continues to reminisce.

Natasha had been different then too. He’s seen her sporadically over the years, enough to barely take notice of the changes as they happened. Now, however, when he looks at her now it overlaps with the old memory. Her hair is longer, more voluminous and taken care of. There was a haunted look in her eyes he hadn’t noticed then. It’s glaring compared with the twinkling mirth sparkling on her gaze now. Her cheeks are fuller too, and there’s toned muscle on her arms and legs under her light clothes. He wonders how much she works out, thinking about how she said she had found something other than ballet to do. He wonders what could that be.

She does look healthy, as elusive as that concept is. Bucky’s not stupid, he knows how the modelling industry can be. He also knows Steve wouldn’t stay with an agency if he knew they mistreated their models. He recalls snatches of his conversation with Steve before he approached Nat on that night. He’d said she was new, had recently changed agencies. He thumbs the label of his bottle, feeling like he might be speculating beyond his place.

_ We’re friends, right? _ He asks himself and looks up at Natasha, she’s scrolling through her phone, probably placing their food order.  _ Maybe not ask-about-your-dark-past friends yet, but at least help-me-keep-assholes-at-bay friends.  _

Bucky  _ knows  _ he’s a mother hen at times (all the time). Growing up with Steve as a best friend and a little sister who got into more trouble than it was advisable made him develop an instinct for worrying and fussing over people he cares for. He thinks he cares about Natasha. But he also has the suspicion that any unsolicited mother henning will be swiftly shut down. That’s fine, Bucky knows how to read people and has no problem waiting people out (Becca is infamously known for her stubborn streak and inability to admit she’s wrong, for that matter, Steve is not that far when it comes to bullheadedness).

“Hey, did that asshole at work get off your back?” He asks, casual as he can. Natasha looks up from her phone and makes a face.

“Most of them did,” she responds offhandedly and Bucky wonders how many is ‘most of them’. “But not him. He’s insisting that he can do better than you, now.”

“He’s what?” Bucky perks up with an affronted frown.

_Should my ego feel bruised at one asshole’s judgment of my hypothetical performance?_ _Why does it?_

“Yeah, you know those ‘girl you could do so much better’ comments,” she imitates a male voice and leering tone with terrifying accuracy.

“He was there at the doors! What the hell is wrong with him?” Bucky asks, bewildered. 

For a second, Nat looks defeated, or resigned, like she knows exactly what is wrong and is long past the stage of attempting to fix it. Then she shrugs and a smirk pulls at the corner of her lips.

“Guess you didn’t sell it well enough,” she drops casually, eyes turning back to her phone.

Bucky sputters for a second, still indignant and unable to understand why he feels so insulted. Well, he _does_ know, he’s always taken a bit of pride in satisfying his partners and making sure they have a good time when they’re with him. So, yeah, one asshole ambling around, giving him a bad name maybe does touch a sensible spot. He’s not gonna admit it _out loud,_ though (Becca is not the only one with the Barnes prideful streak. Bucky’s just runs in a different direction).

“I was unprepared,” he mumbles against his beer, sulking and Nat looks up.

“Hm, is that what you want me to tell him?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. She makes her voice pitchy and giggling in another surprisingly accurate imitation, “‘yes, Roman, sorry my  _ boyfriend  _ looked like a deer caught in headlights the other day, he just had never kissed me before and he was caught  _ unprepared _ .’”

“I was! You barely gave me any warning!” he exclaims and pushes himself off the wall to straighten up.

“I gave you plenty of warning!” Natasha exclaims back. There’s no heat in her voice, on the contrary, there’s laughter, but Bucky doesn’t slow down enough to notice.

“Less than five seconds is no warning,” he shoots back.

“Oh  _ please _ , it’s more than enough,” she rolls her eyes. 

“It’s not,” he insists nonsensically. He’s not sure where this argument is going, and a voice in his head is telling him maybe he shouldn’t follow this up but the banter is making something electric run though his skin so whatever. He’s not going to listen to it.

“You want a redo, is that it? A rematch? I’m right here, James, take all the time you need to  _ prepare _ ,” she taunts, the emphasis in the last word loud and clear.

The silence that follows her dig is tense, charged with something Bucky doesn’t have a name for. He’s suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. The kitchen is so narrow. He’s not against the wall anymore, so he’s basically standing between her legs. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, as that voice that sounds too much like reason chimes in with an  _ I told you so.  _ But then his most basic brain brings back the memory of Nat’s lips on his and that counterpoint is simply too effective.

He puts the mostly empty beer bottle down on the counter and the movement gets rid of the last shred of plausible deniability about their positions. He’s standing right in Nat’s personal space. Her own bottle of beer and phone are down over the granite counter and he isn’t sure when they left her hands. He takes a second to exist in the space, to take in the green of her glittering eyes and the arch of her red eyebrow along with the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose.

He leans in, slow and intently. The voice in his head is mocking him about how he played right into her hands (or lips, more accurately). That she led him here like a horse to water but Bucky is not paying it attention because forget about the beer, he’s abruptly achingly  _ thirsty _ .

This time when their lips meet, is right over Nat’s sharp smirk. She slides her hands over his neck to hold him in place but lets him decide where this is going. It feels like a challenge.  _ Talk the talk, walk the walk, Barnes,  _ he can hear her teasing tone in his head.

He traces her lower lip with his tongue, tasting the remnants of her lipstick mixed with the beer. She opens out her mouth for him and he deepens the kiss. The floaty feeling from the previous time is back. He’s aware of it this time, can feel it clouding his head as she curls her tongue against his. He pushes it away as much as he can. He’s not going to let it get away from him this time. 

His hands find her waist and slide upwards over her back, pressing to bring her even closer. He kisses her slowly, drawing it out, taking his time. He’s making a point, yes, but it’s also what he prefers. Given the option, he likes things slow, languid, thorough. 

Her hair is silky between his fingers. The curls don’t stop it from sliding through his fingers at all. He shifts his angle and Nat’s thighs flex against his hips, almost like she has to stop herself from bringing her legs around him to pull him closer. His lips start to push into a smile as he rests the hand not tangled in her hair on her thigh and slides it down to her knee, squeezing it softly and pulling her closer. The fabric of her jeans doesn’t hide the soft give of muscle under his palm and fingers. Bucky wonders what’d be like to trail upwards instead, to grab her hips fully and bring them closer, hip to hip and- 

A sound too vocal to be a sigh escapes Nat’s throat. It makes something sharp and hot spike in Bucky’s gut before he manages to temper it down. He supposes that is as good as a capitulation he’s going to get and forces himself to pull away.

This time, as they separate, Natasha’s the one who takes a second to realize the kiss is over. 

Her pupils are wide, almost no green visible, Bucky observes with satisfaction as she blinks up at him from barely a couple inches away. Her breathing is laboured, even more than his. They are so close he can feel her rib cage expand with her breaths and push against his chest. 

“Is that believable enough?” He rasps without pulling further away, smug.

There’s a second there when their eyes meet that hangs suspended. They stare at each other in silence, holding their breath. It feels like the second on a rollercoaster before the big plunge, when your stomach is somewhere on your throat and there’s this fluttering feeling in your gut. You know there next second is a point of no-return, that when you start falling all you can do is hold on for dear life until the ride is over because you’re powerless to stop the momentum. 

Nat’s eyes stray to his lips and Bucky can’t look away from the hungry expression on them. His hands are still on her: thigh and hair. Her arms are around his neck and Bucky could swear that for a millisecond her muscles twitch. 

Natasha’s phone vibrates on the counter and the rollercoaster gets stuck.

“I-” Nat starts and unwinds her arms from his neck.

“Yeah,” he says and clears his throat. He lets go of her, taking his hands back to himself.

“It’s probably the food,” she explains, still hesitant and he nods.

He has to take a step back to let her hop down the counter and pass towards the door. The shuffling still leaves them too close and touching in too many places. Bucky thinks it’d be funny if it wasn’t happening to him. 

_ Hey _ ,  _ I just had my tongue down your throat but now I’m skittish that our hands might graze in a close space. Totally normal behaviour _ . 

They disentangle themselves and Bucky finds his manners, “here, let me give you-” he starts taking out his wallet but Nat waves him off.

“I said it was my treat, put that away.” She takes a look at her phone as she leaves the kitchen, “I’ll be back in a sec. There’s more beer in the fridge, help yourself.”

She disappears from view and a few seconds later he can hear the clicking of the keys as she leaves the apartment. 

Bucky retrieves his beer from the counter only to find it’s almost empty already and lukewarm. He takes a new one from the fridge and makes his way to the living room. The couch looks old but comfortable. There’s a blanket over half of it, its dark red colour has been lightened by the thin layer of dog fur that covers it. He takes a seat and immediately stands up back again and starts pacing. 

He takes a gulp of his beer but the taste on his lips doesn’t help to get rid of the memory of Natasha’s. 

_ Should I be this agitated? It was just a kiss, right? _ But he’s always had a thing for redheads. _ It doesn’t have to mean anything, just a kiss. She said she had no problem making out with friends _ , the memory makes him pause.  _ Did she mean that?  _ How  _ did she mean that? Maybe she just likes to flirt, nothing wrong with that. _

The thoughts whirl inside his head. He needs to calm down, think about this better. He leaves the beer on the small table in front of the TV and takes his best guess as to which is the bathroom. He gets it after the second try. The first room he guesses was Clint’s bedroom, out of the sheer amount of dirty socks laying on the floor and the paper target with a single (Bucky guesses it’s only one shot) bullseye stuck to the wall he glimpsed.

He splashes his face with cold water and as he looks up he finds himself reflected back on the mirror. His lips are still reddened and his cheeks are flushed pink. He smiles at himself, self-deprecating. 

He takes a deep breath. The cold water has marginally helped to bring down his frantic thoughts to a manageable speed. He tries to take stock of the situation, to look at it from an outside perspective. 

_ One confused engineer, one gorgeous model.  _

_ They’re friends. They’ve kissed twice. One as a favour and the second one as a dare.  _

_ They’re more friends than anything else.  _

_ Their whole office thinks they’re dating. Because she asked him so she wouldn’t have to deal with unwanted male attention.  _

_ That settles it, doesn't it?  _ He asks himself.  _ She trusted  _ me  _ as a friend to keep assholes at bay, I won’t become one of them _ . He nods at himself, satisfied with the resolution.

_ But what if  _ your  _ attention is not unwanted? _ A traitorous voice whispers on his ear and he frowns.  _ Then she’ll have to tell me. Nata doesn’t look like the type to keep her thoughts to herself, does she? _

He nods to himself again and declares the inner argument finished. He dries his hands and leaves the bathroom just as the front door opens. Natasha comes in holding a yellow bag with a couple containers inside.

“We can eat on the couch,” she tells him and drops the keys on a bowl by the door with a clang.

He only hesitates for a second, trying to gouge if they are going to have any words about the kiss, but Natasha looks as if nothing has happened. There’s no tension or awkwardness in the air between them. 

_ Best to let it pass?  _ He asks himself.

“Clint won’t mind, he’d live in it if it was possible,” she says with a fond roll of her eyes.

_ Yeah _ , he answers himself,  _ nothing weird to see here _ . He almost believes himself.

He chuckles at the comment and helps her take the stuff from the bag and into the table, pushing the worries out of his mind. There are three containers, one has silky rice noodles, the other a mouthwatering almond chicken and finally a colourful chop suey. There are two pairs of chopsticks inside the bag and Bucky holds them up at Natasha.

“You still remember how to use these?” he taunts her.

“Please, it’s been like two weeks, barely,” she scoffs. Bucky doesn’t reply, just raises an eyebrow. With a huff she snatches a pair from his hand and he smirks.

“Maestry is in practice, my young padawan,” he says, only to be a dick and settles on the couch with his container.

Natasha flips him off offhandedly and he chuckles. Nat takes the almond chicken for herself and settles into the couch next to him, chopsticks in hand.

“This is really good,” Bucky comments after swallowing the first bite.

“Ohh,” she teases him. “My order is James-approved, I’m honoured.”

He rolls his eyes, but he knows he’s a bit of a food snob so he doesn’t have grounds for a counterattack.

“Is this from Flushing? I’ve never been but I hear there’s a lot of variety there,” he asks. He’s iffy about Queens geography as a general rule.

“No no,” she shakes her head without taking her eyes from the piece of chicken she’s trying to grab with her chopsticks. “Flushing is way up. I was there for a shoot once, it’s really cool.”

The piece of chicken slides escapes from her shaky grip.

“You… um, having some trouble there?” Bucky bites down on a laugh.

“<Fuck off,>” she curses at him without taking her eyes from her food. “<Put something on Netflix, make yourself useful.>”

“Sure,” he replies casually and takes the remote control from the table. Netflix starts loading and he doesn’t look away from the screen as he says, in the same casual tone, “you’re putting your thumb too low.”

Her reply is as long as it is colourful. But she still fixes her thumb. Bucky fights down a smile as he searches for a movie to watch. 

Natasha has no idea what she wants to watch so she lets him choose. Initially. Until she sees him, predictably, browsing the scifi section and Natasha rolls her eyes and suggests they watch Transformers clearly just to spite him. Jokes on her because Bucky loves Transformers. He almost puts it just to annoy her but in the end takes pity on her. 

Instead, he chooses the latest Michael Bay movie. 

It’s a mistake. That becomes apparent in the first five minutes (four of them occupied by a car chase). Everything in it explodes when it comes into contact with a car: fruit stands, people, buildings, railings, newspaper stands,  _ everything _ . It’s so cliché it ends up being hilarious.

They only keep watching it because it provides too many opportunities for trash talking.

“There’s no way she’d look like that if they fucked,” Natasha comments as the picture perfect sex montage comes to an end and fades into the morning after, with both the participants looking flawless, nary a hair out of place, and in the case of the woman, makeup intact.

As the third car chase of the film starts, even Bucky is getting tired of them, he nudges Natasha with his elbow. 

“How’s the chicken?” He asks, gesturing at it with his chopsticks.

“Oh, it’s incredible, want some?” She offers the container at him and an ambrosial waft reaches his nose with the movement. He’s eaten half of the noodles already but he can’t say no to it.

“Absolutely. Take my noodles so I don’t feel like I’m starving you,” he urges her and they exchange containers.

The almond chicken is as good as it smelled and Bucky bounces in place as the flavors coat his tongue. 

“This is  _ so  _ good. I’m gonna have to come more often just for this takeout,” he jokes.

“Oh so you’re only keeping me around for the food?” Nat mock-glares at him.

“<And the Russian,>” he winks at her and her answering laughter is raspy and honest. 

“Why is- Oh god- Of  _ course  _ there’s a yacht,” she comments a few while later when indeed, the protagonists find themselves on a luxury boat for no apparent reason.

“Is there any plot to this?” Bucky asks honestly. “Because I’m getting the sense this is just action scenes stitched one after the other with no rhyme or reason.”

“An American billionaire fakes his own death and uses his wealth to topple down corrupt governments,” she replies, giving him the blurb that was established in the first ten minutes of the movie.

“Oh! Good. I actually thought for a second there was some depth to it, my bad,” he replies offhandedly. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it, happens to the best of us,” she matches him.

“How dare us expect anything in this wretched world to actually make sense, right?” He comments with a side look of raised eyebrows and fake incredulity.

“Pure, unabashed audacity, if you ask me,” she shakes her head in fake disappointment.

“The gall!” he exclaims, as if affronted by the mere thought.

“The  _ arrogance _ ,” she scoffs. Something non-flammable explodes on the screen.

“The cockiness!” He stops looking at the screen and turns towards her. 

“The insolence!”

“The  _ chutzpah _ !” He continues.

“The-” Natasha starts but gets stuck and looks at him with the most confused expression he has ever seen on her. “ _ What? _ ” He loses it, her expression is too funny. “What the  _ fuck  _ is a  _ chutzpah _ ?” she demands but that only makes him laugh harder.

"You know, chutzpah," he motions with his hand in what he hopes is an affronted way. Natasha snorts, giggles overtaking her as she shakes her head. "It comes from Yiddish," he says through his own bouts of laughter.

"I’m Russian!" she exclaims, somehow finding that even funnier. "I don't have time to learn the-" her laughter dies down momentarily as she snorts and snaps her fingers, searching for the word. "The like- ugh, where stuff comes from? Just- agh! _Origin_!" She takes a deep breath and regroups. "I do not have time to learn the origin of English words, _so_ _sorry_ ," she says in a tone that lets him know she's not sorry at all.

"You mean the etymology?" He asks in feigned nonchalance. He can't quite fight the smirk down and as Nat turns toward him with narrowed eyes and a murderous gaze he loses the fight.

"<You smug little rat,>" she lunches herself at him, hands going straight to his wrists as she wrestles him. "<You try learning a whole language-- without formal lessons-- and then come back to talk to me about fucking  _ etymology _ .>" There's no heat on her voice as she grinds out the words. On the contrary, she seems to be laughing. Bucky certainly is.

Her hands are way too clever for the state he's in. His eyes are blurring from tears and he can't quite catch his breath as he’s laughing so much. She grabs hold of his wrists easily. He tries to free himself and discovers that indeed Nat must definitely work out because as she pins his arms to the couch over which he somehow ended lying on, her grip doesn't budge.

She's laughing now too, her eyes shining as she looks down at him, with a sharp edge of cockiness. He tries to dislodge her by moving his hips but that only brings to attention the fact that she's stranding him and suddenly it's not that funny anymore. The laughter starts to die down as he takes stock of the position they're in and how non-opposed he is to it. 

His throat is too dry all of a sudden and he gulps, praying that he's not getting hard in any noticeable way because Nat is  _ right there _ on top of him and  _ fuck she probably can tell just how much-- Nothing gets past Nata and-- oh fuck.  _ She's looking down at him with those inquisitive green eyes of hers, like she's making sense of what's going on.

Desperate for a distraction he blurts out the first thing he can think of.

"No time for etymology but yes for karate?" He shakes his wrists as if they need a reminder of their position.

"Kickboxing, actually," Natasha replies, remarkably cool and pushes herself off him. It's clear she won this round so there's no need to bring attention to it.

She returns to her original sitting position on the couch and Bucky slowly straightens up. His skin is buzzing and his wrists still tingle with the lingering feeling of Nat's skin. He takes a discreet deep breath, slow and centring, even as a shrill alarm is ringing on his head, trying to get him to acknowledge what the hell just happened.

"Really? That's-” he gets choked up at the sudden mental image of Nat's tights and how they must be in the ring. He has to clear his throat before he finishes off lamely, “-neat. I tried boxing in college but quit the day they said they'd break my nose so I could compete."

Nat snorts and some of the tension drains out of the room.

"Vain," she shoots at him, her own pointy nose turned up at him.

"Says the model," this time is his turn to snort and Nat dips her head in a way that reads  _ touché _ . 

Something explodes on the screen again, which never stopped playing the movie and they turn back towards it. A complicated and incredibly unrealistic car manoeuvre takes place and Nat rolls her eyes as she takes up the chop suey cartoon and passes it to him.

The chop suey is a tad underwhelming after the perfection of the almond chicken but Bucky still approves. They share that one too around another round of beers. The movie is a helpful distraction, even as neither of them have any idea what’s happening. There’s too many bullets flying around for the plot to actually progress. It doesn’t stop them from picking up their trash-talking between bouts of laughter though.

By the time the movie is finished he’s full and warm. One glance at the window, where it’s dark and surely cold, makes him groan.

“What?” Nat asks him as she stacks the empty containers on the low table along with their chopsticks. She’d gotten the hang of it again pretty easily, despite Bucky’s teasing. 

“Just thinking about the way back,” he replies. “It looks like it might rain and I don’t have anything for cover.”

“I’ll lend you an umbrella,” she starts in a tentative voice. Bucky looks back at her and frowns, there’s something in her eyes that he can’t quite put a finger on. “You could give it back to me on Monday,” she offers yet she doesn’t sound very sure about it.

“Yeah, I mean, if you don’t plan on using it,” he replies experimentally, the frown not leaving his face.

“Or,” she stretches the word out, like she’s coming to a conclusion.

And there’s that shift again. Natasha flicks her hair to the side and looks at him head on. There’s little doubt now as to what that unnamed emotion in her eyes is, now. 

“You could stay the night.”

“I could stay the night,” he means for it to come out as a question, but there’s a glitch somewhere between his brain and his mouth (probably fuelled by that ringing alarm) and it comes out resolute.

_ Were her eyes always such a dark shade of green or is the light changing them?  _

Nat’s lips twitch, “if that’s what you want. The umbrella is available either way, but I think the chances of rain are less tomorrow.” She raises her eyebrow, and there’s a glint in her eye that tells him she’s having fun with this, either from the flirting itself or his face, which he’s not very sure what’s conveying.

“And this would be-” he starts, trying to shake his brain away from the way Nat’s t-shirt stretches over her chest ( _ when did she get so close? _ ) and into the conversation.

“A casual arrangement,” she fills in, a smirk flirting over her mouth as she bites into the plush bottom lip. “Sex, movies and good food, what else could you possibly need?”

_Casual? I can do casual_ , he thinks. _Just sex and movies on the side. Everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together anyway_ , and maybe this is the way to stop the stubborn way his brain seems to be caught on Nat. _It’s surely just lust, right?_ _Born out of my perchance for redheads and the fact that she's drop dead gorgeous._ _Lust, yeah, I can work with lust._

He’s nodding before the words come out. “Casual sounds good.”

The words are barely out of his lips before Nat is closing what little distance remained between them and with a muttered ‘good’ in Russian, pressing her lips to his. 

It’s exhilarating, he finds as their lips slide together. There's technically nothing to prove this time, no competition, no posturing. They're doing this because they want to. It doesn’t have to mean anything beyond this moment. There's a certain freedom to that realization. Even if like the previous times they kissed there’s a certain edge to it, a demand in the way Nat swipes her tongue against his lips and his reply in the form of him opening his mouth. 

He’s thought this through not five hours ago, resolved to let Natasha call the shots, given the way she’s leading, Bucky finds he’s more than happy to follow.

His post-dinner lethargy is quick to disappear as Nat leans into him and climbs into his lap. His hands trail over her back and sides to find the hem of her t-shirt and help her take it off. His own swiftly follows suit and as his eyes trail over her newly revealed skin, his mind brings forth the images of the dark green lingerie she was sporting earlier. She’s wearing a comfortable black bra now yet this sight is much more alluring for its proximity and the real possibilities it presents. She doesn’t give him a chance to fumble with the clasp and instead takes it of herself in a practised movement. 

Her soft, warm chest presses against his as her lips stray towards his jaw and a groan escapes him. 

“Bed,” she says in his ear when she reaches it. “I am not fucking on the couch.”

“Bed sounds good,” he nods and his hands travel up from her ass where they had migrated to her waist.

She stands up and there’s a feeling like a vacuum in the place where the weight of her body just was. A shiver runs through his skin at the loss of her warmth. He pushes himself off the couch and immediately draws himself closer to her, his lips finding the sensitive curvature of her neck. Her fingers hook on the belt loops of his jeans and he can’t see it but he can sense the smirk stretching her already kiss-swollen lips.

“This way, soldier,” she tugs him towards the right door, so familiar with the space she can traverse it backwards.

“Yes, ma'am,” he pipes, just to hear her chuckle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcomed :)


	5. Cocktails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for alcohol consumption (again, there's a lot of beer in this fic sorry)

Bucky wakes up the next day with no idea what time it is. The bed is empty and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. The familiar, pleasing ache of his body is a swift reminder of where and how he spent the night. He takes a second to revel in it before pushing the covers away and going hunting for his clothes.

As he leaves the bedroom, still shirtless, he comes across Natasha, wearing a towel around herself and with her hair wet.

“Good morning,” he greets her, voice raspy from sleep. He’s not a morning person.

“Hey, sleep alright?” She asks as she wrings her hair out with another towel, eyes somewhere over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you?” He asks, wondering if he’s imagining the awkwardness between them or he’s just too asleep to function properly. The prospect of ruining their friendship, just when it’s started to find its rails worries him more than he’d expected.

Nat nods in answer and then jerks her head back to the bedroom, “your phone has been going off for a while.”

He frowns. He hadn’t realized he didn’t have it on him, but now that she mentions it, he remembers asking her for a charger the previous night and plugging it in on the other side of the bed before crawling back to bed to sleep. 

“Oh, I didn’t hear it,” he points out mootely and Nat shrugs. Not wanting to stay standing there and make this even more awkward he doubles back into the bedroom and picks the phone up. He has a couple messages from Steve, one from Becca with a link to what he’s sure is going to be some stupid joke along with an assortment of miscellaneous notifications.

**Captain America:**

_ Hey _

_ Should I count you for lunch? _

He types in before even looking at the clock.

**Bucky:**

_ Lunch? Its morning _

**Captain America:**

_ Buck, it almost midday _

He chuckles at the fast reply, he can perfectly picture his friend’s exasperated scoff.

**Bucky:**

_ It is? _

_ Must have slept in _

**Captain America:**

_ Had a fun night? _

He only considers it for a second, replaying some parts of the night before typing back a reply.

**Bucky:**

_ Yep. _

**Captain America:**

_ I don’t really wanna know _

_ And anyway, lunch? _

He thinks for a second about the stilted conversation.

**Bucky:**

_ Yeah, count me in _

_ Ill eat anything as long as u dont cook it _

**Captain America:**

_ Ha. ha. _

_ Ill get Italian _

He looks up to find Natasha tugging a t-shirt down her chest as she finishes changing.

“I gotta go,” he waves his phone as explanation.

“Alright,” she nods and looks out the window. “It’s still raining,” she says with a chuckle and the awkwardness in the air dissipates. “You’ll need that umbrella after all.”

“You’ll let me borrow your umbrella?” He wiggles her eyebrows at her suggestively and she shakes her head at him even though she’s smiling.

The rain has made the temperature drop significantly, he finds out when he leaves the apartment and immediately starts to shiver. At least that’ll provide a good cover for his sudden need of a scarf. Natasha, Bucky has found out, likes to  _ bite _ . 

He makes it home a few seconds before Steve, who looks briefly surprised to find him at home but doesn’t comment on it. 

He’s not sure why he hasn’t told Steve anything about it. Not even that him and Natasha kind of work together. He’s used to sharing almost everything with his best friend, yet something about Nata, the way she seems to keep everything so close to her chest, so guarded and hostile to anyone who presses, has been giving him pause. The revelation has stayed his tongue every time he was about to retell some good quip she had while they were having lunch, or share some funny anecdote about some ridiculous shot.

_ She  _ hasn’t told Steve either, that much is obvious. Bucky’s pretty sure they have even worked together in at least one shoot since she started working at Stark Industries. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong in the omission. This is something that maybe he’d prefer to see where it goes before he starts broadcasting it to the world.

He texted her about the umbrella and a new place he thought for their next lunch when he was on the subway. However, by the time he and Steve have finished eating and thrown away the containers, she hasn’t replied yet. 

An anxious, restless energy fills Bucky and prompts him to speak

“Hey, you doing anything tonight?” He asks him as they lunge on the couch.

“Not socially speaking, I was gonna swing by the theatre in a bit. I’m almost done with the panels,” Steve replies and thinks a bit more before continuing, ”probably work on those brochures and logos I got to finish for next week later. Why?” He inquires with a frown.

“I thought we could organize something, live a little. It's Saturday night, we are young,” he bumps shoulders with Steve’s. “Or at least  _ some  _ of us are, when we aren't wearing khakis and boat shoes,” he adds, smirking.

“Aw c’mon! It was  _ one  _ photoshoot!” Steve groans. “It wasn't even  _ that  _ bad! Just… pretentious.” 

It had indeed been pretentious, shot in a yacht and everything. Bucky had laughed his ass off for ten minutes straight when he had first seen Steve dressed as a trust fund baby. 

“Yeah, you're right, that wasn't even close to the worst one,” he grins now, and by Steve’s dismayed expression, he’s already guessed at what he’s hinting at. “That honour is still reserved for Captain America.”

“Oh god, I’m never going to live that down.”

“No, you’re not, and I’ll make sure of it, that’s why we have The Assbum,” he pats his friend’s thigh with a satisfied smirk.

Steve and Bucky have been friends since Kindergarten, therefore, they have gone through everything together: the good, the bad, but most importantly, the vein-chilling embarrassingly ugly. So, because they are first and foremost little shits to one another, they’ve curated The Assbum: a collection of the cringiest, most disgraceful and undignified photos of their lives. It goes from pictures of them as toddlers covered in mud (Bucky) or running naked in Central Park (Steve) that their mothers had taken, through acne-filled bathroom selfies (both) and blurry college party pics of them wasted (also both).

Since Steve started as a model, a couple years after finishing college, his section has increased significantly, but the Captain America photoshoot remains the star (and the stripe) of them all.

Made to be some sort of reinvention of the old Uncle Sam posters, the directors had put him in stars and stripes boxing shorts, with a flag as a cape and a Mexican wrestler style cowl. They had also dumped a whole bucket of glitter on him (red and blue, of course). Steve had found that shit everywhere for  _ months _ .

From what Bucky understood, the photoshoot was a nightmare and the directors didn’t want to pay Steve at first. He came home angry but ultimately glad that those photos would never see the light of day. Bucky knows a challenge when he hears one.

A week later, Bucky had arrived home, a Cheshire cat grin on his face and an envelope in his hand (and a few bucks poorer).

The Captain America photos had become a cherished addition to The Assbum. And Bucky’s contact photo for Steve every time he calls him.

“Anyway, tonight? Wanna do anything?” Bucky brings them back on track. “You could invite some of the guys from the agency. I’d tell some people from work, get the hot populars and the awkward nerds together. I’ll be super cringy, exactly like high school.”

“Buck, you know it’s not like that,” Steve objects, never one to reduce people to a single label. “And what’s gotten into you? You don’t usually want to meet up with them.”

“I don’t know, I just want to drink,” he says and it feels tangential to a lie. “And Steve, I love you, but drinking the two of us alone is a bit depressing. Besides there’s no way I’m going to a bar alone for it, I’m not a fifty-something divorcé,” he grimaces. He does want to do  _ something _ . That static energy doesn’t seem to be going anywhere and while he’s not looking to drown himself in alcohol, he wouldn’t mind some company. (He tells himself he’s not thinking of the company of one person in particular, who he has seen not half a day before, because that would be irrational.)

“Okay, okay, I’ll see who’s free. We can go to Asgard.”

. . .

Asgard usually draws a good crowd, and that night is no different. Thor is bartending as he occasionally does and greets them with a shout when he sees them walk in, grinning in their direction but not stopping his mixing and tending for a second.

Hope Van Dyne and Bruce Banner are the first to arrive; the first looking misleadingly stern as always and the second sneaking confused glances around like he isn’t sure how he ended up at a bar on a Saturday night. The four of them take over the biggest booth and easily find themselves discussing their latest work project and Hope’s partner's daughter blossoming interest in physics. 

Nat, Wanda, Pietro and Clint arrive next, and Bucky has to make an effort not to lean over the table immediately to greet her, and to stop the delighted grin that threatens to betray him. She shoots him a casual smile as she sits down but is heavily involved in some conversation with Wanda that holds all of her attention.

Last to arrive is some kid that Bucky almost asks if he’s lost and has gotten confused on his way to the Mcdonalds close by. Apparently, he learns soon enough, his name is Peter Parker and he’s a photographer Steve knows. He  _ is  _ actually of legal age because the waitress, Sif, lets him order a beer, after thoroughly carding him.

The night and the drinks flow easily and Bucky starts to feel the nervous energy subsiding. Sitting positions change as people get up to get more drinks or go to the bathroom. At some point he finds Nat sitting next to him and he can’t quite recall how that happened but he’s not complaining.

“Hey, you want another beer?” Bucky asks Steve as he finds his own empty. “I’m gonna get a round.”

“Nah, thanks, I’m good for tonight,” he shakes his head.

“Aww, what’s up Steve?” Nat pipes up from next to him, leaning over the table with a smirk. “What secret do you have that you don’t want drunk Steve spilling?”

“No secrets, I promise,” Steve says with a smile. Everyone knows Steve is loquacious when drunk. He spills not only every thought that crosses his mind, but every single secret he knows. Over the years it has led to some spoiled surprise parties. “Just don’t want a hangover tomorrow.”

“Mm… if you say so,” Natalia hums, sounding unconvinced.

“Anyone else want anything?” Bucky asks and a few hands raise.

“I’ll go with you, help with the drinks,” Natasha gets up from her seat and accompanies him to the bar.

“Hey, Thor, how’s it doing?” he greets him when they reach the counter.

The Australian greets him with his signature grin and takes their orders.

“You know, I could take the drinks myself, right?” He asks, one eyebrow raised as he leans into the wooden counter. 

“What if I just wanted to help?” She matches his raised eyebrow.

“Fetching something?” His tone is tinted with disbelief. “<The spider? Impossible.>”

She rolls his eyes at him, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lip. “Fine, I just wanted to talk to you,” she concedes and he motions her to keep talking. She looks down for a second and shuffles in place, the obvious nervous behaviour makes him frown and he straightens up. “We’re fine, right? After last night.”

“Yeah,” he replies immediately. “Yeah, yes, why? Do you… not feel like we should be? Was something… wrong?”

“No no, everything was great, just, I don't know, thought I’d check,” she shrugs and the tension leaves her frame. “You did say you didn’t make a habit out of making out with friends,” she points out. 

“I think I can handle making an exception,” he smirks crookedly at her. “Especially if things are gonna be like last night,” he winks at her, turning fully towards the bar as Thor starts to load their drinks into a tray.

“So it’s off if the sex is bad?” Nat asks laughing, echoing his words from the first time they went out for lunch.

“Well, a guy’s gotta have standards, Romanoff,” he echoes back.

He takes the tray and as he struggles to get the balance right, Nat takes the tallest glass from it to carry, with a look that reads something like _ ‘see? I can help’ _ .

They set off towards their table but the place is getting crowded and people don’t seem very inclined to move out of their way. After a couple close calls, they make it. Their arrival is received with a cheer. As they pass the drinks around to the group and take their seats, Nat reclaims the one next to him.


	6. Coffee

Things progress easily from there. He returns her umbrella on Monday and their cover as a couple gets firmly cemented at work. They meet up for lunch at least once every other week and once in a while they stray towards later activities. Movies and take out nights are usually followed by sex, whether at her apartment or in his after Bucky asks Steve to clear it out.

It's good. The movies are good, the food too and the sex is fantastic. If once in a while Bucky catches himself ruminating the irony in the fact that they’re sleeping together, spending time together while still not  _ actually  _ dating, while the whole office thinks they are, it’s just a funny thought. There’s no need to inspect the awkward twinge that follows it. 

One Saturday afternoon, Steve and Bucky are waiting for the coffee to brew and the bagels to toast in their kitchen when Steve speaks up, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hey Buck, I just remembered, you free June 12th? It’s a Saturday,” he asks and Bucky pretends to think about it for a second, truth is he’s never been one for planning too far ahead, so the answer is simple enough.

“I don’t know. That’s a bit far away but I should be, yeah. Why?”

“The play I’ve been working at premieres. The director gave me two tickets, though you might wanna come with me. I told Sam too but I don’t think he’ll make it,” he explains. Bucky recalls the last art festival he went to with him, the way everyone predictably fanned over Steve and he stupidly brushed away. He’d bet his whole salary that at least half the cast and crew (at least those inclined towards his gender) are all at least a little bit smitten with him. 

“Don’t you have anyone more interesting to take?” Bucky replies, knowing he’s a rather poor company when it comes to the appreciation of the live arts. Steve’s immediate frown makes him raise his hands in a placating gesture. “Not that I’m complaining. I like seeing your work, and I know I’m wonderful company.” He grins, cocky because he knows Steve responds to that better. As predicted, his friend rolls his eyes at him. “I don’t know, pal. It’s the kind of stuff that’d make a great date, seems a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Bucky, you don’t ask someone on a date only because you  _ happen  _ to have a date-like events,” Steve objects with a scoff. Bucky opens his mouth to contradict him but Steve interrupts him, “besides, no, there isn’t anyone I’m interested in right now.”

Bucky feels his heart go out to his friend at that, even if he knows better than to let it show.

“I’m just saying, Stevie. You haven’t dated anyone since Sam. And it most definitely wasn’t due to a lack of people trying,” his tone is soft. Steve’s love life is a bit of a sore subject.

“It’s just that in the past few years it didn’t seem to matter that much. I figured I’d wait.” Steve shrugs.

“Yeah, I know. But wait for what?”

“The right partner. I want to find someone I really like. Someone I can see myself growing old with. I don’t want to date just for the sake of dating,” he replies, and Bucky can’t help but smile ruefully at his friend’s eternal idealism. 

“Alright, Stevie, alright.” Bucky concedes. He grabs his shoulder, and jostles him like he used to do when they were younger and Steve was a scrawny, feisty, little thing. 

“I’m waiting for the right partner, that’s all. I’ll know it when I meet them.”

He nods because he doesn’t know what else to say, especially as his brain decides to bring forth an image of Natasha. But that’s understandable, they are sleeping together. It's logical for him to associate her with the word  _ partner _ , right?

He doesn’t acknowledge, not even to himself, that the images flickering through his mind are of her laughing, teasing him or chatting, fully clothed and wearing an open smile he has come to crave seeing.

* * *

The metal arm is lying on the worktable, gutted. Red and green cables trail out of it, into the processor and become one black cable that hooks into the computer by Bucky’s right. He can feel his skin tingle with anticipation underneath the little neuroprocessor patches he has stuck to his shoulder. The workshop air is cool against his bare chest and he wouldn’t mind having worn or brought a tank top but it's of little consequence when compared to what he’s finally testing. 

Tony had been surprisingly devoid of sassy comments as Bucky took off his light blue shirt which he suspects had something to do with Pepper’s constant reminders that Tony kept a professional attitude. Or maybe he is as much on edge as Bucky is and has miraculously fallen to notice the state of half nudity he’s in. Or maybe he has made some comment and Bucky, wise in the ways of Tony Stark, has failed to notice given he has tuned him out some half an hour ago.

Tony is flicking holograms around as usual, checking that everything is as it should, receiving FRIDAY’s reports even over the blaring music.

Bucky hits a couple keys on the computer. The code seems to run smoothly so he gives the cables one last check. Everything seems in working order, the arm looks foreign under the harsh fluorescent lights, truly not far from what he’s pictured while reading his sci-fi novels. He has one second of bewilderment when the fact that he has had a hand in its creation threatens to sink in. 

He pushes the thought away. He’s too anxious to really delve into it. He finds one cable that seems to be crooked and fixes it. He goes back to the computer and types the last of the code. He licks his dry lips, unable to contain the ball of anxiety, anticipation, excitement and nerves that is rolling in his gut.

Everything seems to be working. He shares a look with Tony, the same conflicting emotions mirrored in his brown eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the test.

His chest falls with his exhale and he brings his eyes to the metal limp on the table. Slowly, apprehension written on every minutiae movement, he curls his hand in a fist. The metal fingers twitch and his breath catches. Something airy swells on his chest.

_ We did it we did it we did it we did it we did it _ , he thinks, a real grin breaking through his chapped lips.

A spark flies. The metal fingers twitch in the wrong direction. Another spark immediately follows. The smell of burned plastic reaches him a millisecond before the bright flash of fire is visible. A blinding flash follows and when Bucky lowers his hand from where it flew to cover his eyes, the arm is on fire.

“Fuck!” he screams as all his expectations come crashing down.

A beeping sound reaches him from where the music fell silent and one of Tony’s robots moves. Fire extinguisher in claw, Dum-E presses it and bathes the arm, Bucky’s hopes and his shirt which he mistakenly left too close to the arm in white foam. 

“What the fuck?” Tony’s tone is both befuddled and annoyed, like he can’t believe what just happened. “No, no, this is wrong, this can’t have happened.” He looks at Bucky, like he expects an explanation to come and all Bucky can think is ‘ _ no fucking shit’. _

Everything was calculated. He really can’t think of what could have gone wrong so he doesn’t reply, just takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a second and thinks,  _ I need a minute.  _ Tony is still babbling, and this time Bucky can’t seem to tune it out. The constant stream of words is wearing his patience thin.

He really thought it would work. He  _ tried  _ to keep his expectations low; it was after all the first time they did such a straightforward trial yet it is only now that it has failed that he can realize how high his hopes were.

“I need a minute,” he grits out and doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s bolting towards the elevator. “Roof,” he barks as he walks into it, belatedly adding a ‘please’ afterwards. FRIDAY’s reply is subdued, no nicknames this time, as if the AI can feel his mood. Considering Tony Stark made it, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised that was the sort of thing it could take into account.

He slumps on the wall and the sudden cold makes him hiss. He’s left his ruined shirt on the table, he’s walking around shirtless at his place of work.  _ Great _ .

The elevator opens to a reception area which he pays no mind to and walks directly to the glass doors that give way to the roof. The air is frigid and strong against his naked skin. It’s enough to shock his frustration from anger to despair. If not to quiet the self incriminating loop he’s stuck in.

He really had thought they had managed it once and for all.

He takes a deep breath of the cold air, fighting against the frustrated tears prickling in his eyes. A shiver wracks his frame and he wraps his arms around himself, cursing again his lack of foresight in bringing a tank top. He has no idea how he’s going to get through the rest of the workday with a ruined shirt. Less get home but he hasn’t gotten to that point yet.

Goosebumps rise all over his skin and he casts his eyes outwards to the New York skyline in search of a distraction. He’s gotta give it to Stark, it’s a wonderful view. Not Brooklyn, but nothing to dismiss either.

“So,” a voice suddenly speaks at his shoulder and Bucky yelps (more like squeals, in a very undignified way though he’ll never admit it). He whirls around, heart beating a mile a minute, adrenaline running high through his veins and making him forget the cold eating at his bones. “What are we brooding about?” Nata asks casually, completely unaffected by the frigid wind despite wearing a blouse and skirt. There’s that glint in her eyes that Bucky knows means she’s smiling underneath her impeccable facade. 

“How the fuck did you get here?” he gasps out, putting one hand on his chest like some old lady from a bad period drama who's about to faint.

Natasha cocks her head to the side and bites down on her lip, losing her fight against a smile, “Tony called me. Something about you storming off dramatically. You know how he worries.”

Bucky isn’t sure if he’d ever call Tony Stark a ‘worrier’ but he can’t say he knows him a lot. He frowns as he thinks of her answer. “But why?”

“I’m your girlfriend, remember?” It takes him a second to understand her meaning.

“Sorry,” he mutters. The scare is fading but it was enough to break him out of his misery loop and he’s starting to feel rather ridiculous. He suppresses a snort at the picture he must paint, shirtless with slacks, brooding on a windy rooftop.

Nat is still looking at him in that curious but kind way, with only a hint of amusement, like she’s still expecting an answer.

He huffs, goes to cross his arms to cover himself somewhat but stops halfway. He’s not sure what to do. It’s not like she hasn’t seen him naked, but they are still at work and well, the situation is kind of embarrassing.

“Work frustration” he explains, settling for rubbing his arms against the rising goosebumps.

“That how you lost your shirt? Or was that a fashion statement? Not that I’m complaining.” The corner of her mouth twitches and she sweeps her eyes appreciatively over his naked skin, causing something warm to surge in his gut. 

“In a way.” He scratches his cheek where his two day stubble is itching. 

Nat frowns up at him as a wisp of red hair catches on her nose and she shakes her head to dislodge it before reaching out and laying a surprisingly warm hand on his bicep.

“Let’s get you inside, tall, dark and brooding. I’ll find you a shirt so you don’t give any of the employees a stroke.”

He chuckles, feeling his cheeks blush as they head inside. “You don’t have to, Nata. I’ll find something…” he trails off, his lie evident.

Nat rolls her eyes, “I do this for a living, don’t protest.”

They go in and the immediate lack of wind makes Bucky shiver as his body starts to heat up again. Now that his emotions have literally cooled he feels somewhat silly.

It was obvious they wouldn’t have gotten it right at the first try. He has been spending too much time with Tony and his lofty boasts. What they’re attempting to do is incredibly delicate work, if it were easy it would already have been done. Time and patience will be key.

He throws himself on the couch, exhaling a sigh and working through the lasts of his frustrations. Natasha has gotten out her phone and is already speaking on it, something about a courtier. He tries to pay attention as she makes her way to the back of the couch. However, when she absentmindedly lays a hand on his head and combs it through his hair, the effect is instant. His muscles relax and he leans into it as his eyes fall shut. The wind has tangled it but Natasha’s fingers work delicately through it, untangling it.

He hears Nata thank the person on the other side of the line before she hangs up and chucks it to the couch next to him. She digs both her hands in his hair now and he hums in appreciation unwittingly.

“So, wanna tell me what happened?” she asks.

“Just-” he flounders for a second, some of the frustration making a comeback before he forces himself to take a deep breath and let Nata’s fingers soothe him. “We messed up the first trial of the prosthetic project.” Natasha’s quiet hum urges him on. “And it’s not really surprising, it’s delicate work and we’ll probably fail many times until we get it right. If we ever do,” he ads in a dejected undertone.

“Hey,” Natasha chides him with a weak tug on a strand of hair. “Don’t get broody, even if it suits you.” The teasing compliment makes him snort, and she continues before he can deflect it. “So what happened to your shirt?”

“Oh, it was next to the prosthetic and one of the robots got generous with the fire extinguisher and sprayed it. It’s probably ruined,” he fights down a pout. He quite liked that shirt. He’d gotten compliments that it matched his eyes more than once while wearing it.

The room is warm compared to the outside and the couch is comfortable underneath him. Bucky starts to drift off, all his worries forgotten as Nata continues to work through his hair with soft tugs.

There’s a pressure, warm and rising inside his chest that he’s fighting to push back. The corners of his mind he’s set on ignoring are hyper aware of how good this feels.

The elevator chimes, notifying it has arrived and Bucky is startled out of his lethargic state. In the second it takes the doors to open Bucky considers snatching a cushion to cover some of his modesty as his mind tries to find some sort of faux explanation that can feasibly justify the fact that he’s shirtless with a woman on a secluded part of the Tower. Specially given she’s meant to be his girlfriend.

His worries are for naught though, because when the elevator opens there’s no one there, just a white bag sitting in the middle of it.

Natasha draws her fingers from his hair and makes her way towards it before he can stand up. She takes it and hands it to him.

He thanks her as he grabs the bag, bemusedly thinking about how this is the second time she has gotten him clothes in short notice. And as he puts it on again finds it a perfect fit. He’s long ago given up in trying to figure out Nata’s mysterious ways, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever going to stop being appreciative of them.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks patting for his wallet but Natasha waves him off immediately.

“I put it on the company card. The loss of the shirt was a work accident. Pepper’s fine with it, don’t worry about it,” she waves him off and continues to type in her phone.

“Nata,” he calls her attention. “<Thanks, really, I have no idea what I’d have done,>” he chuckles. His earlier frustration hasn’t really disappeared, but it's manageable now, the type that will allow him to actually be useful instead of getting stuck on the next minor setback. 

Nata takes a step forward to pat him in the cheek jokingly. “<No problem, Yakov. Just try not to lose the pants next time,” she winks at him and gets a laugh out of him.

“<You know that if you want me to lose my pants all you gotta do is ask,>” he sasses back, getting into the familiar territory of their banter.

Natasha snorts but asks, “you free on Saturday night? I have a shoot in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah,” he replies after thinking about it for a second. “I’m free.”

“Great, you can continue my sci-fi schooling,” she says. She’s been surprisingly happy to let him edge their movie catalogue towards outer space since he introduced her to the new Star Trek movies.

They make their way to the elevator and as the doors close in front of him and hide Natasha from view, Bucky calls out, “don’t worry about drinks, I’ll take care of it!” He grins, giddy in the silliness, “you like  _ Ginger  _ ale, right?”

Nata’s very colourful words get cut off as the doors close and Bucky’s laughter bounces on the metal box.


	7. Empanadas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for discussions of antisemitism in media

“How about this one? I really liked the new movies, is this the original show?” Natasha asks as Bucky is setting down the cardboard box with their food. He looks up to see what she’s referring to.

“Nah I don’t feel like watching that one,” he answers her question. The prequel series to the original Star Trek show, The Next Generation is highlighted on the screen on the ‘continue watching’ section. He’s been binging it lately but stopped close to the end of the third season, before The Most Toys episode. They are at his apartment, trying to pick the next instalment in Nat’s sci-fi education.

“Why not?” She asks, head tilted in confusion.

“Antisemitism,” he doesn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

“Really?” Nat frowns, looking back at the Netflix thumbnail with fresh wariness.

“Yeah, I mean,” he sighs. “The rest is pretty great, as you’ve seen. The original series especially,” he clarifies, not wanting to do the  _ whole  _ franchise a disservice. It does have some questionable creative decisions at times but the final balance he thinks is positive. Even as some of the bitterness remains in his tone. “You know the creators did this whole song and dance stuff to keep the censor offices from taking out their political commentary? And the original creator had Jewish roots, I think. But there are some characters in it that are just not great.”

“I knew something about it, I think. Is that a thing that happens a lot?” She inquires with genuine curiosity.

“What?” He sits down on the couch and takes an empanada from the table. Natasha mimics him and settles against his side.

“Antisemitism in sci-fi.”

“Yeah, in a lot of fiction honestly, it’s way more common than people realize,” he nods, biting into the food. It's filled with meat and potatoes, just off the side of spicy. “Sometimes creators don’t even realize what it is. There's a lot that’s just very deeply ingrained and naturalized, you know?” He explains, swallowing around the bite.

Nat hums in answer, looking pensive, she got a corn-filled empanada and is looking at it with an appreciative eye. 

“Antisemitism has been so related to Nazis that if you try to point it out people just clam up, you know? It’s annoying and tiring,” he continues, fighting down the irritation that flares up. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, feeling his shoulder slump with the motion. It’s not a subject he particularly enjoys talking about, either.

“I didn’t know it was that widespread,” Nat remarks.

“Yeah,” he thinks for a second about how not-knowing was never really an option for him before searching for a way to explain it better. “Like, think Cold War era and it’s anti-Russia sentiment and Russian-codded villains, but like, for  _ a lot _ more time,” Natasha wrinkles her nose at the image. “Like, dwarfs obsessed with gold who just oh-so-happen to have big noses and accents. Harry Potter’s goblins who work in a fucking  _ bank  _ of all places, wearing glasses too. The archetype of a greedy villain is an antisemitic caricature inherited from so fucking long ago. All those stories about secret races controlling the world, too, you know? It’s all the same,” he waves his hand in the air in an comprehensive gesture. The reach of antisemitic narratives feels insurmountable at times and he’s had to learn to enjoy things despite them. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t grate on him. 

“Hm, I’d never thought about it I guess,” Nata says and looks back at the screen, with a decisive  tap, she swipes left to the next one. “If you ever feel like chatting about it, I’m down. I’ll definitely have to read up on the subject, though.”

Bucky gives her a grateful quirk of the lips and a small shrug, indicating he’s really not in the mood for it today. Nat nods at his reply and turns back to the screen, scooting a few centimetres closer to him.

They scroll through Netflix for too long without finding anything that catches their eye, in the end Natasha offers to teach him to play some card games. Foolishly, he accepts. Not only does he accept to learn, but also to play a strip version of the game.

He’s down to his boxer briefs before can even learn all the rules. Natasha’s expression as she ogles him over the low table makes him suspect she might be being a poor teacher on purpose.

. . .

Later, Bucky rolls over in the bed and stares at the ceiling for a moment. He knows he needs to get up and dispose of the condom but too sated and warm to gather the will to do it yet. Sweat cools over his skin and the smell of their mixed arousal is still thick in the air. Natasha shuffles next to him and raises her arms into a full body stretch. His eyes trace the smooth white curves of her taut skin on their own volition. As the light hits her at an angle, the barely visible freckles on her skin surface. A satisfied groan escapes her lips as she curls her limbs back in.

He pushes himself out of the bed, knowing that if he curls back into her warmth like he wants to, getting out will be even harder. His movements are sluggish and he feels the building ache of a good night already settling into his muscles. 

When he comes out of the bathroom Natasha is still on the bed, looking like there’s no place she’d rather be. Bucky is caught off guard by the image but hides the surprise easily. After that first night with the rain as an excuse, they haven’t spent another full night together. Natasha’s usually dashing out at this point, tugging on her clothes with one reason/excuse or another and disappearing out the door before his orgasm-induced endorphins even fade out. 

The sight of her in his bed, pleased as punch in his bed is not… unwelcomed.

Her red hair makes a stark contrast against the white pillowcase. The sheets are still strewn at the feet of the bed and she has made no effort to cover herself. Heat halfheartedly pools on Bucky’s abdomen at the scene, even as he’s too sated for it to travel any lower. He swallows thickly and finds his throat dry as sandpaper,  _ god I really need- _

“Hey, now that you’re up, wanna get me a glass of water?” Natasha interrupts his line of thought with her signature innocent look.

“I was about to,” he reveals with a perplexed frown, but she only cocks her head to the side, still expecting his reply. “Sure, <spider,>” he concedes with a joking roll of his eyes, using her nickname born out of situations exactly like this one.

“<Thank you very much, Mister James>” she replies in Russian, exaggeratedly polite.

“<You’re welcome, Natalia Alianova>” he plays along with an overly gracious tone. 

He slips on his underwear before leaving the bedroom, not wanting to walk around with his dick out in case Steve just happens to come back right in the moment he’s in the kitchen. It would be far from the first time they saw each other naked, sure, but it’s just bad form.

When he comes back, two full glasses in hand, Natasha is scrolling through her phone, back propped against the headboard.

“<Here you go->” he starts in Russian before he gets stuck. Nat grabs the glass and gives him an inquiring look at his sudden stop. “How do you say tarantula?” Bucky asks, giving up on trying to remember it on his own.

“<Tarantula,>” she supplies before scrunching her nose in distaste. “I’m no tarantula.”

“Why not? They’re scary enough,” he counters before taking a sip of his water. He hums as the cool liquid soothes his parched throat.

“I’m not nearly as hairy,” she shrugs in her nonchalant, deadpan way and crosses her smooth legs as if to illustrate her point.

“You’re something alright,” he drawls, Brooklyn accent thickening as his attention is diverted by the sight. He takes another gulp of water as he ponders the matter. _ No tarantula, alright _ , he recognizes to himself,  _ then what? _ The idea comes to him as he lowers his glass. “A black widow, that’s what you are.”

Natasha snorts and looks up from her phone with a glint on her eyes, “we’ve fucked and I haven’t bitten your head off, don’t think that comparison tracks.”

Bucky tries to keep his mouth shut but he’s still loose and somewhat aloof from the endorphins and the comment slips by with a smirk, “I wouldn’t call  _ biting  _ the head you did the other night, but-” He clamps his mouth shut as his own words reach his ears even as he fears the damage is done.

Natasha’s mouth falls open in a round, astonished O. The moment hangs on a delicate thread for a second before her cheeks twitch upwards almost hesitantly a couple times and are immediately followed by an unabashed peal of laughter.

“You  _ dog _ ,” her voice gets strangled by another bout of laughter.

Bucky gazes at her as she writhes on the bed, her shoulders shaking with laughter. It doesn’t take him long for him to be grinning, delighted at the fact that he hadn’t fucked up with his wordiness. He needs to remember more often that her sense of humour is just as dirty as his.

“What?” He prompts, emboldened by her laughter. “It’s not like I was that far behind.”

He gets a pillow on his face for his trouble.

“Yeah, real gentleman you are, Barnes.”

“Well, I’m always open to constructive criticism, you know that,” he gives her a rakish grin and wriggles his eyebrows in a way she only deigns to reply to with an amused roll of her eyes.

As her eyes drift back to her phone he sneaks another glance at her, taking in the relaxed, leisured way she’s sprawled on the bed, giving no indication of moving. 

_ She’s staying _ , the thought makes something stir in his chest, a sort of champagne-inspired rush that he stops himself from letting show, lest he jinx the balance of the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like learning a bit more about the topics from the beginning [here](https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/made-by-history/wp/2018/08/14/science-fictions-anti-semitism-problem/)  
> [and here too.](https://forward.com/culture/film-tv/408447/sci-fi-has-an-anti-semitism-problem-but-not-the-one-you-think/)


	8. Tacos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for the tail end of an attempted mugging.
> 
> My favorite chapter of this fic, some realizations happen and we itch closer to the last part of a certain tag, hope you enjoy!

Bucky’s coming back from a bar after a disappointingly short date with a woman. Replaying the night in his head and coming to the conclusion that even though she was cute, there was something in her that didn’t click with him. 

Figures, first date he has in months and it’s a bust. At least he got decent food out of it. 

It wasn’t just the fact that she was very obviously not over her ex, but some voice in his head that kept pointing out how she didn’t seem  _ right _ ; how she was too sweet; that remarked how she didn’t get the silly reference he made about Micheal Bay's movies; how she didn’t seem to appreciate his choice of restaurant or how the way she called him  _ James  _ didn’t have the right inflection. 

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears a scuffle coming from the alley a couple paces ahead. Being this Brooklyn, and being Bucky lifelong best friends with Steve Rogers, he has a certain sixth sense to detect when a fight is going on in an alley. So, almost out of muscle memory, he creeps closer to check it out.

The sight that greets him is only worrisome for a second, before he makes sense of it.

"You know, I thought my days of finding people I know in alley fights were over now that Steve got jacked. Figures I'd just get more friends like him," he drawls, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

Natasha looks back to him from where she’s holding some scrubby dude against the wall in an arm lock. She looks surprised to see him but not displeased. She gives him a look like ‘ _ give me a minute’,  _ before leaning closer to the dude and whispering something in his ear. The guy’s already ghostly pallor blanches even more. He stumbles away when she lets him go, mumbling something about crazy redheads that Bucky doesn’t manage to catch completely.

"I grew up under decaying communism, James,” she says as she approaches him, tucking something that Bucky thinks might be a knife in her purse. “I take my private property  _ very  _ seriously."

“He tried to mug you?” He asks rather redundantly. “Are you alright? Do you wanna go to the police, or something?” He furrows his brows in worry as he regards her.

“Nah, not worth it,” she shakes her head, red curls catching on the streetlight. “He didn’t take anything and he’s got no more weapons. No harm done.”

“Alright, but how about you? You alright? Hurt? Shaken up?” He prods. 

He doesn’t explicitly want to hover or insist much but Nat can be hard to get a read on and he’s concerned. That same muscle memory that drove him into the alley now has him expecting to have cuts to clean and tempers to soothe. 

But Natasha is not Steve. She fixes the purse higher on her shoulder and shrugs.

“I’m unhurt, just-” she pauses for a second, not meeting his eyes and looks toward the dark street. “A little shaken up yeah, maybe,” she admits in a soft voice he has never heard her use before.

He recognizes the admission as the rarity it is and something in his chest catches at that demonstration of trust.

“Do you want company? Or to call someone? My apartment is close by if you want some quiet,” he offers and only hesitates for a second before reaching out and laying his hand on her forearm in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“Company sounds good,” she accepts with the smallest smile and takes hold of her elbows as if caught by a cold draft. “No quiet, thought. Do you know any place around here we could go to?” 

Bucky thinks for a second, mind flicking through the options he’s familiar with in the neighbourhood. He doubts a normal bar would be enough distraction. As much as he thinks he’s a good partner to have in a conversation, he doesn’t think Nat is looking for a chat. He ponders about the indie cinema that Steve likes to go to but recalls it has been out of order as they find a new projector; instead they have been leaving the Friday nights for- 

An idea sparks in his head.

“How does dancing sound?”

It turns out dancing sounds great for Natasha once he convinces her her casual outfit is fine for the setting. 

“James Barnes you are a man full of surprises,” she states as they walk into the cultural centre turned saloon for the night, lips already pushing upwards in a surprised grin. 

“I have my moments,” he replies modestly, eyes not straying from the inkling excitement in her expression. He already knows what the room holds, and as fun a view as it is, Natasha is a much more interesting sight _. _

_ “ _ I can’t believe you  _ swing _ . How did I not know that?" She wonders, turning towards him with bemused surprise. 

"That's because it’s a secret, if word got out it'd kill my bad boy reputation," he jokes with a faux serious expression. 

"Oh please, you'd have to have one to begin with, James 'i save ladies in distress' Barnes," she laughs, and he can already tell the tension has started to ease off her frame. 

His face softens and he has to fight against the smile that threatens to bloom on his features, soft and edged with something too tender.

"From what I remember, you were hardly in distress', Natalia Alianova" he matches teasing tone, letting her know he’s following her lead.

"Nor I am a lady," a catlike grin spreads across her features as she turns around and starts beckoning him towards the dance floor. Bucky can't help but laugh and follow heedlessly along.

"Could have fooled me, with your prima ballerina aura," he walks towards her, grin firmly in place.

"If you think ballet made me a lady, you've never met a real ballerina," she starts as they take their position as the next song starts. At his raised eyebrow she leans in as if she were to share a secret and whispers in his ear, "we're vicious little shits."

He’s already laughing as he guides her into the first twirl. And he keeps smiling as it becomes clear that Natasha is a fantastic partner. If his mind supplies something Steve said about wanting to find the right partner instead of dating around, as she giggles in his arms, well, he’s not gonna let it show. 

Natasha proves yet again to be incredibly versatile and able to pick things up in a snap. A few songs later and she’s already moving seamlessly from one move to the other as if she’d had months of practice. Bucky twirls her around in shared exhilaration. 

He has to admit that it feels good to be the one to mark the pace for once, even if it’s on a dance. He has no problem letting Nat lead in the other aspects of their relationship, and maybe that has to do with the unacknowledged fact that he’d say yes to anything she proposes (he’d had to resist the urge to roll up his sleeves at work for a couple days after one of their nights together left him with light abrasions on his wrist. And some new knowledge about himself.).

A lot of eyes and a couple cheers follow them as they stumble out of the dance floor towards the chairs set up for resting some time later. The music is loud and they’re both grinning and out of breath, so they buy overpriced cool water bottles and take a breather.

“This is fun!” Natasha exclaims after downing half a bottle in one gulp. “I should’ve worn a skirt though,” she muses, eyeing the couples who have come dressed for the occasion in full 50s dresses and suits. 

“The skirts look better but I gotta admit they don’t make my job easier,” Bucky jokes, thinking of the times when he was starting up and how he used to get tangled in the fabric.

“How on earth did you end up learning how to swing?” She asks him again, one red eyebrow arched in curiosity.

“My sister Becca wanted to learn a couple years ago and the classes only accepted formed couples,” he shrugs and takes a sip of his water. “We took lessons for a while but she ended up dropping out, I stuck to it. Nights like these are good for practice, people like to switch partners. And they’re just good fun, honestly.”

“This  _ is  _ fun,” she echoes herself, smile lingering on her lips as she takes another sip of her water. Her fair skin is flushed from the exertion, shiny with a sheen of sweat that Bucky finds tantalizing. He knows by now which are her most sensitive spots and he licks his lips reflexively thinking about trailing his mouth down the salty arch of her neck to the sharp edge of her collarbone. “Much better than ballet.”

_ This is such an improvement from the way my night started _ , he thinks, feeling guilty given the reason why they’re here. There’s no unease lingering in Nat’s eyes now though; she’s sprawled on her seat, feet tapping to the rhythm as her eyes trail after the dancing couples. 

“I thought you liked ballet,” he comments.

“I did. The dancing. Not much of a fan of the discipline,” she wrinkles her nose. Bucky can easily picture a young Natasha, sporting a sharp red bun, a pink tutu and a glare as her teacher tries to get her to behave. The image makes him chuckle.

“Well, you’re welcome to join me any time,” he offers sincerely and she looks at him with a surprised expression. “I haven’t been in a while, it’d be easier if I had a steady partner.”

“Aw, James,” she drawls with exaggerated sweetness, voice mimicking the Brooklyn accent he sometimes lapses into, green eyes lighting with laughter. “Ya asking me ta go steady?”

There’s a fraction of a second where the question hangs in the air and Bucky feels his stomach sky dive straight to his feet. His eyes snap to hers unwittingly, and his breath catches on his throat. Alarms ring in his head because the prospect sounds as far as from unappealing as possible.

It’s an effort to make himself laugh, to wink at her and play it off as a joke, “I could only dream ta be so lucky.” The thick accent and the smirk ring hollow to him, even as Nat lets the matter drop without a proper answer and goes back to looking at the dancers.

“Care for a dance?” A male voice makes Bucky look up to find a tall, brunette man smiling at Natasha with a hand extended. 

Nat considers it for a second before smiling and nodding. “Sure,” she says with a shrug and takes the man’s hand. “Can you hold my water for me?” She asks Bucky and he nods as he takes it from her hand. Their fingers graze with the passage and he feels achingly aware of the contact.

The man leads Natasha to the dance floor and Bucky can’t take his eyes away from them. The guy is tall and brunette like him, though his hair is short and he’s slimmer. He’s a good dancer too. As the song starts he twirls and leads Natasha in spins and turns one after the other. Her red curls trail after her like a fiery comet trail. 

As he looks at them swing in and out of the crowd Bucky wonders if that’s how they looked like together when they were dancing. Some petty part of him insists that she was laughing more when she was partnering with him. 

The man brings her chest to chest with an expert jerk of his arm after a particularly strong twirl and the plastic water bottle creaks under Bucky’s hand. He has to force himself to ease his grip and take a sip to cool himself. He has no grounds to feel jealous, he reasons,  _ if that’s even what this is _ .  _ Natasha can dance with whoever she wants _ , he says to himself, but the truth of that statement has little to do with the fact that he wishes it was  _ him  _ she chose to dance with. And go out with. And curl up in bed to sleep with.

He groans and drops his head on his hands, a sudden feeling like desolation falling on him. He can deny it all he wants, but the truth has resurfaced and he knows it: he’s fucked. 

He’s gone and developed feelings for Natasha. 

Feelings that stray from the friendship-with-benefits kind. 

This is not friendship accompanied with lust, like he convinced himself at the beginning. And maybe it never was. He wonders if it even matters anymore.

He slumps in the seat, fighting off a hysterical burst of laughter. He’s so fucked. What's he gonna do? He wonders.  _ Not  _ have feelings for Natasha? When she’s the standard he keeps comparing all other interested women to? When their lunch dates are what he most looks forward to on the week? When the whole office already thinks they’re dating and he’s not sure he wants it to be for show anymore? He sighs and the laughter threatens to burst out of him when a familiar voice cuts into his downwards spiral.

“What the hell happened to you?” Nat sounds amused, still panting from her last dance. 

He looks up at her and his breath catches on his throat.

One of the overhead lights is aligned behind her, making him squint against the glare. It shines around her head like a golden halo, lighting up her red hair like a torch. She’s smiling at him, face flushed from exertion and head cocked to the side with an eyebrow quirked.

“I was only gone for like five minutes,” she says and there’s laughter in her tone, matching the mirth in her green eyes.

Bucky can’t fight the hysterical giggle that gets through his throat. 

_ God, if only you knew, Nata, _ he thinks.  _ If only you knew how I’m dying to be the one to make you laugh and leave you breathless from dancing with you for as long as you’ll stand me _ .

Natasha looks down at him with a newly wary expression, as if she isn’t sure whether she should laugh along with him or be worried. The worry wins out and she presses a hand to his forehead and then his cheek.

“You sure you’re alright?” She swipes her thumb over his cheekbone and Bucky’s stomach flips like a pancake. Her hand is warm on his cheek, her skin remarkably soft.

He shakes his head and fights his unhinged smile back down. It does neither of them any good if he loses it right now, as cathartic as the impulse promises to be. 

“Nothing, just realizing a couple funny things,” he evades, trying for a reassuring smile that doesn’t manage to make the soft worry line between Nat’s eyebrows disappear. “Wanna dance the next song?”

“If you’re up for it,” she replies, regarding him like she’s not completely convinced.

He nods profusely and stands up. He takes a second to mentally shake himself from his funk as best he can. They are here to help Natasha get her mind off things, not to dwell on his feelings. 

The steps prove complicated enough to clear his head from the traitorous thoughts lurking in it, even if he can't quite avoid a misstep as Nat laughs mid-twirl and the sound of it, raspy and utterly delighted distracts him for a second.

Now that the realization has fallen on him he can’t help but wonder how did it ever take him so long to see it. How did he not notice the flutter in his stomach every time she jokes with him in a tone too close to flirting? Or how his skin feels overly-sensitive and fizzling on every place she touches it? Were her eyes always that gorgeous, rich shade of green? Was her hair always that golden shade of red? Did her laughter always make him smile automatically like a Pavlovian reflex, before he even knew what was happening?

He suspects the answer to a lot of those questions is ‘ _ yes, and for way longer than you think’ _ .

When they finally leave the cultural centre they are both on their second water bottle and exhausted in the best kind of way. Bucky feels like he’s floating, riding the endorphin high of the exercise, enhanced by every time he makes Nat laugh.

“Christ, Yakov,” Nat cackles as he takes her hand and leads her into a twirl in the middle of the sidewalk. They’re still in one of the busiest parts of Brooklyn and the streets are dotted with bars, restaurants and food trucks with twinkling lights and outdoor sitting. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Just high on life,” he replies, it’s not  _ technically  _ a lie. “It’s been too long since I went out dancing, just enjoying the aftermath,” he shrugs and brings her close to him, one arm around her shoulders. She absentmindedly intertwines their hands over her shoulder and he feels his grin spread even further. “Do you know what would make this better?” he asks, gripped by a sudden urge.

“What?” Nat indulges him, eyes shining with an intrigued light.

“Food!” He exclaims, looking over the assortment of food trucks parked up and down the street.

Nat guffaws, “of course. What else could it be?”

“What? You’re telling me that after all that dancin’ ya ain’t hungry?” The electric energy singing in his veins makes his accent thicken like it hasn’t in a while. He looks down at her with a ‘ _don’t you dare lie_ _to me’_ expression.

Nat shrugs with a tiny smile, “I could eat.”

“That’s the spirit! How do tacos sound?”

They have to stop holding hands to pay for the food and Bucky misses the contact immediately. At least Nat stays nestled under his arm as they walk, so it’s not  _ all  _ bad. They eat on their way to his apartment while they chat. She tells him the latest of the twin’s mischief and Clint’s latest accident.

The Maximoff twins live on the same block as her and Clint and they’ve been attending Queens College for the last two years. Wanda is majoring in a Fashion and Textiles program while she tutors deaf highschoolers who take courses there as part of her scholarship program. Pietro is on an athletics scholarship (apparently he runs track very fast), and is getting a degree in Political Science. 

Nat shines with pride as she tells him about them. It’s obvious she feels fiercely protective of the twins and that she and Clint act as some sort of big siblings to the orphaned Sokovians. Bucky wonders again about how they ended up so tightly bound together. This time his suspicions about it being something less than pleasant make his stomach curd with sorrow. However, Nat’s grin as she retells Pietro’s latest race in the track against some guy named Barry makes it clear that whatever bad experience they’ve had, it is far in the past.

He knows he’s probably smiling way too softly as he listens to her but he’s too tired and happy to truly succeed in hiding it. Natasha is smiling next to him, gesturing animatedly as she retells the last crucial seconds of the race. She slipped into Russian about halfway through the story and Bucky suspects she hasn’t even realized. 

There’s not a shadow of the unease that had darkened her eyes at the beginning of the night.

“<And then he->” Nat interrupts herself mid sentence when she catches sight of Bucky gazing at her. “<What?>” She asks, sidetracked by whatever she finds on his face.

“<Nothing,>” he shrugs her inquisitive look away and gestures to the other side of the street with his head, grateful to have a distraction at hand. “<We’re here.>”

They haven’t really discussed it, but there’s no universe in which Bucky would make her go back to Queens this late on a Friday night, even if she hadn’t suffered an attempted mugging only hours prior. 

“So, did Pietro win?” He prompts her back into the story and she picks it back up as they cross the street and go up to his apartment.

When they come in he can tell Steve is already in bed. He had a last minute shoot at a studio on top of some freelance work he had due with a tight deadline. He probably came back from work, crammed until he was done designing whatever he had been hired for and passed out immediately afterwards. Bucky shakes his head in fond exasperation as they close the door softly behind them. He’d also bet Steve forgot to stretch his hand after all that work and will be bitching about it tomorrow.

“Steve must be asleep, so we gotta keep quiet,” he whispers at her and Nat nods, eyes shining with mirth. “Do you want something to drink?” He offers because it feels polite, even if they have just finished their water bottles.

Nat shakes her head, “I’m good, I could do with a shower, though. You think that’ll wake Steve up?”

Bucky thinks about it for a second before shaking his head. Steve can be a pretty heavy sleeper when he’s worn out and a shower is a common enough sound that he’ll probably won’t register it. “I don’t think so. I need one too, so I say we risk it.”

They’re both sweaty from dancing and walking around so there really isn’t much of an alternative. He gestures at her with his head towards the bathroom door, “go ahead, do you need anything in particular?”

“I always bring a change of clothes to shoots but I could use a t-shirt to sleep in?” She requests.

She goes into the bathroom as he goes searching for the garment. She’s petite enough that any of his shirts will be a little big on her, but he still rummages around in his drawer for an old Star Wars black t-shirt he bought years ago. The print is faded now, and the collar is a bit stretched from use, it’s a bit big even on him, but it remains the softest thing he owns.

He raps softly on the bathroom door to hand it over. As he opens the door after Nat’s quiet ‘come in’, he expects to find her at the sink or maybe stripping off her clothes but the shower is already on and she’s already on the other side of the curtain

The glass is spotted with droplets, blurring her figure, not that there’s much that Bucky needs to imagine after all the times they have slept together. He allows his eyes only one fast look and he still needs to clear his throat before speaking.

“I brought the t-shirt, do I just-” he means to tell her something like ‘leave it here and get out’ but she interrupts him.

“Yeah, leave it by the sink and hop in, hurry up, hot water isn’t eternal, you know?” She pushes the glass open and peeks out to grin at him.

Bucky stands rooted in place only for a second before he’s following her instructions. 

_ It makes sense _ , he reasons with himself as his t-shirt gets swiftly discarded, _ we’re both tired. This saves time, less noise and minimum chances of waking Steve up _ . 

All reasonable arguments, though none of them justify the eagerness with which he gets into the shower.

The water is on the hotter side of his preference but he doesn’t complain. The heat feels heavenly on his sore muscles anyway.

“Pass me the washcloth and the soap?” He expects her to start using them on herself but instead she lathers the washcloth up and starts rubbing it over his chest, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they do this all the time.

That flutter is back on his stomach, accompanied by a squeezing sensation on his chest that he’s not sure he wants to delve too much into if he’s aiming at keeping his composure. He looks down at her, wondering how this woman went from a casual stranger to someone’s who’s touch feels like the only right sensation on his skin. Her hair has darkened with the water and it’s covering her back in a smooth, shiny sheet. She’s standing very close, the size of the shower doesn’t leave room for much else. From this distance, he can see how her wet eyelashes have clumped together and the soft freckles that dust the bridge of her nose.

He doesn’t trust his idle hands at the moment, doesn’t trust them not to cup her gorgeous face and draw her in for a kiss, just to check if water tastes any different coming from her lips. He reaches blindly behind himself and finds the right bottle merely by touch. He doesn’t believe he can take his eyes away from her.

The smell of his shampoo fills the small enclosed space as he squeezes it in his hand. Nat sneaks a glance of the bottle and curses goodnaturedly.

“What?” He asks, already smiling.

“I thought it was lemon, not oranges,” she gestures at the bottle, pouting halfheartedly.

He frowns lightly at her looking from his hand to the bottle a few times before he realizes she’s talking about the scent of his shampoo. A part of his mind perks up and takes notes that her comment reveals she has spent at least  _ some  _ fraction of her time wondering about how his hair smells. And not in a negative way. That same line of thought leads him to realize she’s going to smell like him after this shower, the prospect fills him with no small amount of satisfaction.

“I don’t know how it’ll leave your hair but I've got no other option,” he apologizes in a soft tone as he starts to work it into her curls, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. 

Nat shakes her head minutely with a smile, “it’s fine. It’s a pretty good brand actually.”

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles at her look. “These luscious locks don’t just  _ happen _ , you know?”

She stifles her snort barely and then gestures at him to lean back into the spray to wash off the soap. The shampoo makes a good amount of foam, he regards it with a critical eye as his hands absentmindedly dig into the stiff muscles of her neck. The idea has barely taken form inside his head as Natasha speaks up again.

“<We don’t have time for you to give me a foamy mohawk, Yasha,>” her tone is teasing but Bucky’s so taken by surprise by the affectionate nickname that he doesn’t have it in him to wonder yet again about how it is that she divines his thoughts. 

“<Buzzkill,>” he sticks out his tongue at her and she snorts.

“<Very mature.>”

It takes more effort that he’s willing to admit not to repeat the action.

They switch positions with minimal teetering and fall risk so she can rinse the shampoo off her hair and lather up his back and arms. The rhythm of the washcloth against his skin is hypnotic, soothing. Even though they are both naked, and unlike all the other times they have been, there isn’t anything inherently sexual about it. They’re both too tired and spent from the night for this to morph into sex. Instead it’s soft, tentative, comfort of the basest kind.

They exchange roles and repeat their actions. As her fingers massage into his scalp he needs to take a deep inhale to stop himself from groaning in pleasure. The small smile in Nat’s lips tells him she noticed it anyway. She hums in approval when she sees the conditioner he uses and his mouth tugs up in an amused smile.

As he soaps her back and legs in even strokes, he can’t stop his idle hand from shyly tracing the ridges of her spine with a finger as they stand out under her skin as she leans forward to raise her knee and maintain her balance. The hot water is still far from running out and the air is thick with steam, yet Nat’s skin ripples with goosebumps at the touch.

His chest constricts painfully when she straightens back up and looks at him over her shoulder with a sleepy, calm look.

_ I have to tell her how I feel, _ he thinks. _ If there’s even the slimmest chance she feels the same way. I owe it to her to be honest _ . 

A complicated mix of feelings follows the sudden resolution. Trepidation at the prospect that she doesn't feel the same way. Excitement at the slim possibility that she does. A healthy dose of fear but also relief. 

He’s denied his feelings for long enough, he can’t continue to pretend they don’t exist anymore. He can’t pretend that his chest doesn’t feel like it has a weight on top of it every time she’s upset, or that it doesn’t flutter with every one of her precious smiles.

_ Not tonight, though _ . Discussing this now after the night they had doesn’t sit well with him. Nat’s already gone through enough and it’s so new that he highly doubts he’d be able to find the right words anyway. _ In the morning,  _ he promises himself,  _ in the morning it’ll be easier to think about the next step _ . 

They don’t talk as they get out of the shower. They help each other dry off, even though there’s no need for it (and it’s definitely not faster), but neither of them comments on it. Nat slips into a pair of black panties she takes from a small bag in her purse and then puts on his shirt over them, not bothering with a bra. The hem reaches to her mid thigh and even though Bucky already expected to be affected by the sight of her wearing his clothes, he’s still caught by surprise by just  _ how much _ it pleases him. They brush their teeth side by side on the sink and she chuckles at him when the minty foam dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. He sticks out his tongue at her again.

He hasn’t brought any clothes with him to the bathroom so he keeps a towel around his waist as they make it to the bedroom. Nat takes out a charger for her phone and plugs it in without needing him to remind her where the socket is, perfectly at ease in the space. He takes a pair of boxers from his drawer and slips them on along with an old t-shirt that has already been pajamas for way longer than it ever was a t-shirt. 

He climbs into the bed and he only has a second to wistfully ponder how it’d feel to fall asleep with Nat in his arms before she’s scooting over to him and nestling on his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. He guesses it might be for her; he’s seen her with Clint and the twins, sufficient times to conclude she’s a tactile person with those she’s comfortable with. In all this time, he’s only gotten a small portion of that side of her as they lunged on the couch and watched movies. His chest is so tight he thinks he’ll stop being able to breathe any second.

She shuffles to a more comfortable position, her whole body pliantly pressed against his side. His hand finds the back of her neck of its own accord, as if it were meant to rest there. Her hair is still damp and she hasn’t bothered to comb it so he can’t run his fingers through it, but she sighs as his thumb presses into a stiff muscle and he concludes the outcome is the same. 

“<Thank you, Yasha,>” she whispers against his collarbone. Bucky makes an inquisitive sound in reply, he can’t see her face from this angle and he’s not sure what she’s thanking him for. He also doesn’t trust his voice not to give away how affected he is by her new nickname. “<Thank you for taking care of me,>” she clarifies, sounding already half asleep.

He squeezes her neck in acknowledgement and has to blink rapidly to clear the sudden sting on his eyes. The moment feels too delicate, too fragile to break with more words, so he leans in and drops a kiss on her hair. The familiar smell of his own products that he’s so used to he normally doesn’t even take notice of, fills his nostrils. 

He knows then he won’t be able to open that bottle of shampoo without thinking of this moment for quite a long time.


	9. Coffee #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns the mature content tag so content warning for non-explicit sex

Bucky rises to consciousness to the feel of a soft kiss on his neck. He sighs in pleasure. He feels warm and surprisingly well rested. There's a warm body pressed to his but he’s not sure of the exact logistics of  _ how _ . It’s hard to pinpoint where his limbs end and the other person’s begin. Another kiss, pliant and languid on the sensitive spot below his ear extracts a groan from his throat and he feels the lips pull into a smile against his skin.

“<Good morning,>” Nat whispers, contentment and a hint of amusement plain in her tone and he can only hum in reply.

He feels so warm and fuzzy, he doesn’t even want to open his eyes. He’s so comfortable. The details of the night filter in in hazy snatches. Nata in the alley. Her fiery red hair trailing behind her as she spins, head thrown back in laughter. The vulnerable line of her spine in the shower, prickled with goosebumps at his touch. 

“‘morning,” he mumbles back, too addled to manage Russian, or even articulated English. “Timizzit?”

“Early,” Nat chuckles, seeming to find his incoherence endearing and continues her trail of kisses lower. He sighs and presses her more firmly against his side with his arm. “Steve is out for his run,” she informs him, tone shifting into something more suggestive. “We’re alone.”

Bucky’s brain is a little slow on the uptake but as Nat’s hand travels lower under the sheet and slides into his boxers, he discovers his anatomy is not quite as sluggish. His breath catches as her slightly cooler hand strokes him and he draws her in for a kiss. It’s unhurried, slow in a way previous times they’ve been together haven’t been. His hand slides up her back, retracing the path it did the previous night in the opposite direction. The fabric of her shirt bunched up and she takes it off easily, as it’s so big on her. Her hair has dried during the night and now Bucky can slip his hand on the silky tresses. 

_ God I love her hair _ .

He pushes himself to the side and guides her into her back, not breaking their kiss. He leans his weight on his elbow next to her head so he can trail his hand over her smooth, warm skin. Her hands tug at his own shirt and it gets flicked off to the side fast enough. They’ve done this enough times that he knows what she likes, even if they have never gone around it in exactly this way. His thumb caresses her nipple, the soft underside of her breast and Nat arches her back into the touch with a mix of a sigh and a shy whimper.

“< _ Natashen’ka _ ,>” the tender, affectionate form of her name slips out of Bucky’s mouth in a gush. He knows it sounds too reverent, too awed and that it’s giving him away but she doesn’t seem to notice and he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, she lets out a strangled little whine against his lips and tongue.

Her hips sway closer to him, her own hand getting caught between them. Their underwear is the last thing that prevents the last planes of their skin from touching. Bucky has to break their kiss to speak, to ask even as he isn’t completely able to form words.

“Yeah?”

“<Yes,>” she replies immediately and nods for good measure. Her hand not on him, the one that had been trailing over his back, plunges into his hair and tugs lightly to free more of his neck to her attention. The other tugs insistently to get his boxers down his legs.

Keeping his balance and opening his night table’s drawer while her attention is fully focused on him is harder than expected but after a couple aborted tries, he manages to take out one of the little foil packets. He goes to slip the condom on after he opens it with one hand and his teeth but Natasha takes it from him and takes over the task.

She whines when he enters her, muscles taunt as her body arches on the sensation. He moans along with her. She feels overwhelming, intoxicating around him. Her legs wrap around him tightly, like she can’t bear for him to draw even an inch away and they rest there for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling.

As she eases her grip, he leans into his elbows and looks down at her, taking in the view of her flushed face, her hair spread all over the sheets and her shining eyes. He’s both terrified and enraptured by the sight. Enthralled because she’s the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on and scared that the glimmer in her eyes is nothing but an overzealous figment of his wistful imagination.

Natasha smiles up at him, softly and edged with so much trust Bucky can feel a vice close around his heart so harshly it’s painful. She caresses his cheek, her soft fingers catching lightly against the incipient stubble on his chin before she nudges him closer for a soft kiss.

He starts moving on reflex, driven by the hedonistic instinct that craves more of this exhilarating pleasure. Her strong legs have only marginally slacked so rather than rocking, he’s grinding against her. It’s deep and slow, steady, as heat and the heady smell of their mixed arousal builds up between them. Their kisses don't break for a long time, keeping the same unfaltering, languid pace.

When their breathing starts to pick up, their chests expanding with every coordinated wave of their bodies and they have to break apart. Bucky buries his face on the curve of Natasha’s neck, feeling like there’s nothing else on the world but her skin. 

Their muscles start to twitch as pleasure gets the better of their synchronization. He breathes her in as he rasps her name over and over again, intertwined with other endearments and nonsense phrases he’s not completely aware he’s uttering.

Natasha replies in stuttered moans of broken Russian. He’s never heard her slip into her mother tongue as they had sex before and it only adds to the knot tightening in his gut, even if his brain is not able to understand half the things she says. Her moans get higher in pitch and her body starts to arch and press against his as she nears her cusp. Her muscles lock and quiver, the tension so high she’s practically vibrating under him, and  _ god  _ Bucky loves this part. 

He lets go of her thigh to slip his hand between their bodies and drive her over the edge in the way he’s learned she likes. She comes with his name on her lips, repeating it like a mantra as she comes down from her high.

“James, <Yakov, Yakov, Yasha,>” she moans. Bucky’s close, right on the edge from her own aftershocks and as she takes hold of his hair and tugs it, arching from the hypersensitivity, he thrusts one, two, three times and he’s groaning her name against her skin. “< _ Yasha _ ,>” she sighs, the name hanging in the air between their laboured breaths. 

“< _ Natashen’ka _ ,>” he replies because his brain hasn’t come completely online yet. It got caught up at some point in the realization that Natasha was there with him in bed in the morning and was unable to move on from there.

He’s slumped on top of her, and while she’s not complaining he knows better than to overstay his heavy welcome. With a grunt, he pushes himself off her and to the side. Nat lets him go, drawing her leg from under him where it got trapped. She breathes in deep in a full body stretch he’s so used to. The familiar sequence makes him smile, even as it reminds him that there are things they need to talk about if he’s to let himself see that ritual again. Before they get distracted or he convinces himself to start procrastinating. He rolls off the bed to dispose of the condom in the bathroom and when he comes back Nat is slipping on his old shirt, probably chilled at the loss of his body heat. 

She leans back into the headboard and looks up and down at him with an appreciative gleam. Satisfaction is written on every line of her frame and Bucky wishes for half a second that his feelings were marginally less, that he could go back to lying to himself about them and not risk losing this. But he’s had to come to terms with them last night and he can’t deny them anymore. 

George and Winnie Barnes might have raised an occasional dumbass, but they did not raise a coward.

He’s followed Natasha’s lead for most of the time they’ve known each other, finding himself always willing to accept her prepositions and plans. It’s only made it more clear that now he wouldn’t be able to continue this as if nothing happened. He needs to clear the air, for his own peace of mind at least. If Natasha wants to take sex off the table after they talk he knows he’ll have no real issue with it. What he’s scared of is that she’ll want to be out of his life altogether. 

As if he needed another telltale sign that he’s completely hooked on her.

His defeated sigh makes Nat look up at his face with a confused frown.

“<What is it?>”

“<I- We->” his starts but his Russian fails him. He needs to make sure he expresses himself right. His veins start to fill with nervous energy, he knows it’s best to stick to what he knows best. Nat’s eyes follow him as he picks his boxers from the floor and puts them on. He continues in English, “can we… talk?”

Nat’s frown depends immediately, worry marrying the lines of her face as something like anxiety flashes in her eyes. She straightens up in place and curls her legs close to her chest, securing them in place with her arms. 

“Sure, everything alright?” She sounds wary and her expression is guarded, like she’s bracing herself against whatever follows.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. Natasha has always been able to read him like an open book, the fact that she seems unaware of his internal debate throws him off the same as it makes him realize how important it is that he expresses himself properly.

He climbs into the bed and sits down opposite to her. He wishes he could take hold of her hand or have some point of contact to ground himself, but she’s wrapped tightly around herself and he doesn’t think his touch would be welcomed. 

“You know,” he starts, searching for the right words. “You know how everyone at Stark Industries thinks we’re dating?” he asks and she nods along, the line between her eyebrows not softening. “And how we became friends afterwards, how we went out and did all these things to keep up our cover, even before we started sleeping together? And how now we’re going out, sleeping together and acting as if we were a couple in front of all these people and-” he clears his throat, the words getting caught midway. He looks away at the window, with its watery morning light for a second before his eyes get drawn back to Natasha. “So what if I didn’t want it to be an act anymore?” There, he said it. The words hang a second in the air before he’s tripping over himself to explain further. “And I know we’re friends, and I love being your friend. I  _ really  _ don’t want to ruin that but at some point between Michael Bay movies and our weekly lunch dates this became more for me and I’ve  _ only  _ just realized it but I know I wouldn’t be able to keep this,” he gestures between them to encompass the sex, or the sleeping together or just the intimacy they shared, “up without saying anything. I’m sorry, but I’d feel like I was lying to you and I know that’s something you’d hate.”

“Yasha,” Natasha starts, Bucky holds his breath, telling himself not to get his hopes up merely because she called him by his nickname. Her expression is inscrutable as she opens her mouth to continue. 

Only to get cut off by the sound of the apartment’s door opening.

“ _ Buuuckyyy _ ! I’m hooooome!” Steve singsongs loudly as he comes in, barging into the apartment with all the grace and quiet of a baby elephant.

Bucky closes his eyes and inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. He has to remind himself that punching his best friend in the shit-eating grin he  _ knows  _ he’s sporting isn't going to solve anything. No matter how much he wants to.

Steve’s footsteps are easily traceable as he stomps to Bucky’s bedroom door and bangs on it, “ _ Buck _ ! You awake?”

“ _ I am now, _ ” he grits out with all the irritation he’s feeling. He isn’t even sure what he’s going to do if Steve decides to come in and finds Natasha sitting on his bed, looking clearly like she just spent the night. What’s he going to say? ‘ _ Its not what it looks like _ ’? ‘ _ She’s not just a casual booty call. This time, at least. I’m actually in the middle of confessing my feelings for her right at this second _ ’? He bets that would go down wonderfully for everyone involved.

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to find out. Steve bangs his palm against the door one more time and doesn't come in.

“Great!” He obnoxiously ignores Bucky’s irritated tone. “I’m gonna get a quick shower, do you mind taking care of breakfast? Coffee’s already done,” with a cheery tone unsuitable for a Saturday morning, he turns around and stomps towards the bathroom. “I’m feeling pancakes!”

When Bucky opens his eyes again, he finds Natasha struggling to keep herself from laughing and failing miserably. Her eyes are shining and she has both hands over her mouth and nose to keep herself silent. However, as she lowers them and tries to get it under control, a snort escapes her. Bucky desperately shushes her and they wait with bated breath to see if Steve has heard them. His best friend, it seems, is either already inside the bathroom or too lost in his morning cheer to pay enough attention.

In the following second, they hear the shower turn on.

“I guess that's my cue,” Nat manages to say between giggles as she pushes herself out of the bed. 

Bucky feels his stomach drop. Nat running away was not a scenario he pictured as an alternative following his confession.

“Nata wait, please, we-” he stumbles out of the bed, fighting against the tangled sheets. “Can we talk for just a minute?  _ Please _ .” The desperation is plain in his tone but he’s so beyond caring.

Nat looks back at him as she slides her jeans on. She’s still wearing his old Star Wars t-shirt.

“James this is not a conversation we can have in two minutes as we hide in your bedroom from Steve!” She hisses at him.

He flounders for a second, he doesn’t disagree with her but he’s hanging by a thread here, he needs  _ something  _ to hold on to. 

“Then when?” He pleads.

“Tonight. Come to Queens, I’ll make sure Clint is with the twins. We can talk then,” she replies as she unplugs her charger from the wall and glances at her phone. 

“I can’t,” he realizes with dismay.

“What do you mean you  _ can’t _ ?” She glares at him sharply.

“Steve’s show premieres,” he reveals, which probably explains his friend’s cheery mood. “I can’t miss it.”

Natasha rolls his eyes at him, “then come afterwards.  _ Jesus _ , Yasha, or do you turn into a pumpkin past midnight?”

He knows he’s grinning at her like a fool. He should probably get that under control. But she’s not talking to him like she’s planning to end things and she’s called him by the Russian nickname again. He doesn’t really know how to respond to it other than with a flustered, beaming smile. Besides, he finds her even more attractive when she’s like this, not really angry, just fondly exasperated.

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” he nods enthusiastically and follows her around the room as she picks up the last of her things and stuffs them into her purse.

The shower is still turned on in the bathroom but Bucky knows it won’t be for long, Steve’s morning showers tend to be quick. Nat’s sneakers don’t make a sound against the floor and he has to make sure he doesn’t jingle his keys as he opens the door for her.

“Alright, see you tonight,” Natasha turns around as she passes the door. “I’ll text you when I get rid of Clint,” he nods, at a loss as to how to say goodbye through the knot in his throat, when she gives him a half smile and so fast he almost can’t see her move, goes up to her tiptoes and drops a peck on his lips.

He stands rooted in place, heart fluttering with hope and a million other emotions in his chest as she turns around and disappears down the stairs, quickly and silently. 

Bucky floats back to the kitchen, not really registering his surroundings and pours himself a cup of coffee on autopilot. He leans into the counter, still wearing only his underwear and stares into the middle distance, lips pulling up into a grin.

“Why haven’t you started on breakfast?” Steve’s voice snaps him out of his trance. He’s shirtless wearing a towel around his waist and a frown on his face. He’s massaging his shoulder and rotating it in place, grimacing at the strain. Just like Bucky predicted, he forgot to stretch last night.

“I just got here,” he lies and makes way for his friend to pour himself his own cup.

Steve sniffles in his general direction, “do you smell like sex? I thought I heard you come in pretty early last night.”

“It was  _ not  _ early when I came home,” he corrects him. “You just crammed too much work and forgot to look at the clock when you finally went to bed. And last night was a bust,” he says and keeps going before Steve notices the contradiction in his story. “I was just so  _ rudely  _ woken up this morning that I needed  _ some  _ way to start the day right,” he complains in an overly sweet but still suggestive tone.

“Ugh,” Steve scoffs and Bucky hides his laughter behind his coffee mug. “Keep that shit to yourself, jerk.”

“Don’t wake me up at ass o'clock on Saturday mornings and I will, punk.”


	10. Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for discussions of an authority keeping strict control of mobility, communications and food as well as forced isolation of support systems. This is mentioned and discussed but not explicitly described in detail and is lighter than canon (specially comic-canon). Also alcohol consumption and a reference to bondage.

Bucky stands in the middle of his room, in front of his bed, which is covered with clothes, wearing only his underwear and fiddles with his bun nervously.

“What am I even supposed to wear to a theatre premiere?” He shouts at Steve, who’s in the living room behind his closed door

He’s been fretting over what to wear for longer than he’s willing to admit. He knows Steve finds it funny, but that’s because he doesn’t understand that when he says ‘theatre premiere’ what Bucky hears is ‘meeting with the friend he's developed feelings for that might, or might not be willing to take him as her boyfriend’.

“Buck, it’s not a big premiere. The theatre is going to be filled mostly with family and friends. All you really have to dress for is the get-together afterwards,” Steve calls back, probably expecting that to be reassuring and only adding a new load of anxiety to Bucky’s already jittery composure. He digs into the pile and unearths his favourite pair of jeans.

“Get-together afterwards? What even is that?” 

_ How long will that take? I can’t let Natasha hanging in exchange from a bunch of people I don’t even know. Steve never mentioned a get-together before. _

“We’ll just have something to eat, maybe drink a beer. It’s mostly to congratulate the actors and production on the premiere. Wish them a good run or break-a-leg or whatever.” Bucky listens with half an ear as he digs for another item of clothing. “It’s really not that formal and maybe half an hour at most. Everyone is going to be really tired after it’s all said and done,” that eases his worries slightly. Half an hour is not much, and Nata already expects him to be late, that’s good. He picks up the last item, a blazer that has gotten positive reviews before. 

“Okay, how about this?” Bucky comes out of the room in a fitted pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt underneath a black blazer, hair pulled up in a bun he already has years of practice artfully constructing.

“Yeah, that’d work.” Steve nods, there’s a teasing glint in his eye that Bucky normally could recognize in his sleep, but his nerves are making a number on him and his next words land like a punch. “Kinda gives me the vibe that you’re gonna start lecturing me on how there isn’t an International Men’s Day, but sure, it works.” Steve immediately cracks up laughing at the utter dismay on Bucky’s face. “I’m kidding, Buck. You look great, really. Let’s go, we gotta get flowers on the way and we don’t wanna be late.”

“You’re such a punk,” he tries to roughly tousle his hair but Steve is not the 90-pound spitfire he was when they were kids and easily bats his hands away.

“Yeah, yeah, start walking, jerk.”

The flower shop is packed, as expected on a Saturday night. As they wait their turn, Bucky wonders if he should buy a bouquet for Natasha, if it’d be appropriate or if she'd think it weird. He’s not even sure if she’s the type of person to enjoy flowers as a gift. He ends up deciding against it in the end, after all, he lacks a proper excuse for the purchase and there’s no way he’d be able to hide them from Steve.

If he’s lucky enough, he’ll have other chances to find out not only if Natasha likes flowers, but exactly what kind and in what form, he promises it to himself.

As nervous as he is, the play still manages to snag his attention. He welcomes the distraction for as long as it lasts, even if he has to stop himself from checking his phone during scene changes. He still pulls it out the second they abandon the auditorium. 

No new messages.

Someone has set up drinks and little bites of food in the reception room and the audience quickly falls on them as the buzz of conversation and greetings picks up. When the actors come into the room, having changed from their costumes, the room bursts into bright cheers and applause. Steve and Bucky keep to the back of the room, bouquet in hand as they watch the commotion.

Bucky goes to pick up a beer, needing something to do with his hands as well as a way to settle some of his nerves. As he makes his way back to his friend he finds him chatting with Sam Wilson. He catches the last part of their conversation as he comes into hearing range.

“What do you mean? I’ve been nothing but an angel my whole life,” Steve is giving Sam his most angelical look, blue eyes big and eyelashes fluttering. Sam doesn’t look the least affected.

“Yeah, and I’m Mother Teresa,” Bucky chimes in. He gives one of the beers to Steve and waves to Sam. “If anyone’s been an angel these last two decades it’s been me, putting up with your thin-skinned, punk ass,” he needles him, grinning behind his bottle before he takes a sip.

Steve turns towards him, an exaggerated expression of betrayal now on his features.

_ “How dare you.” _

“Always looking for a fight, I swear, it’s like owning a senior chihuahua,” Bucky keeps the shit-eating grin on his face. This is a choreography he knows by heart, but still never fails to entertain him. Sam is laughing his ass off as well, even though he’s heard variations of this exchange a million times already. Before Steve can reply to what he probably considers an insult of the highest order, they get interrupted.

“Who’s a chihuahua?” A white, blue eyed girl he recognizes from the stage jostles her way between them, eyes twinkling with laughter.

“No one,” Steve is quick to reply. “Angie! I meant to come see you, congratulations! The play was amazing!” He gives her a big hug, practically lifting her off the ground.

“Thank you, Steve, I’m so glad you could make it,” she says around his shoulder, clearly pleased by his praise.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Here,” Steve hands her the bouquet, “these are for you.”

“Aw, they’re lovely, you really shouldn’t have.”

“Nonsense, least I could do after you put up with me the whole run,” he says with a smile. Angie simply rolls her eyes at his unfailing chivalry.

“Oh, cause that’s  _ such  _ a hardship.”

_I swear to god,_ _he needs to write a book: How To Make Every Creative Person Fall In Love With You 101. Step #1: Be Steve Rogers_ , Bucky thinks with a snort, incredulous. . 

Steve and Angie both turn towards him at the sound. Steve is giving him a look that tells him he’s very close to sticking out his tongue at him. Bucky recognizes it because it’s the same one he has been giving him since they were five.

“And this  _ very mature _ guy here is my friend, Bucky Barnes,” Steve gestures between them. “Bucky, meet Angie Martinelli, amazing actress and genius director. That other guy there,” he points with his beer, “is Sam Wilson, also a friend. Only slightly more decent than the other one.”

Bucky gives Angie a kiss on the cheek, all charm, because he lives to contradict Steve Rogers, and Sam shakes her hand, smiling warmly.

“Speaking of friends, there’s someone I want you to meet. I think you’ll like her,” Angie says, smiling up at Steve with a glint in her eye.  _ That  _ gets Bucky’s attention. He suspects what is about to follow and already starts to grin. Steve  _ hates  _ being set up, something Bucky has done an innumerable amount of times over the years to varying, but ultimately high, degrees of failure. 

Angie scans the room for a second, oblivious to the nightmare of teasing she has initiated. Finding her target, she joists the bouquet on one hand and waves at them. From his angle, Bucky can see it's a beautiful brunette woman with keen eyes and a big smile, which can actually be sort of promising.

“English! Come here! There’s someone here I want you to meet!” Steve turns around, trying to catch a glimpse too but his angle is bad and the crowd has thickened with the actors in play.

When the woman finally appears, she does a double take when she catches sight of Steve. It’s not an unusual occurrence in itself since Steve left college and the lingering remnants of his long puberty behind. This woman sure is bold about it, though. She’s staring at Steve like she doesn’t believe he’s real. She has shiny brown hair and brown eyes, with a jawline that rivals Bucky’s own and a generous figure. She’s a knockout, Bucky recognizes in an admirably detached way. Steve seems to be of the same, if more  _ attached  _ notion: he’s staring at her with his jaw slack, an awestruck expression on his face. 

When she finally moves and traverses the last couple steps to their little round, Steve shuffles to the side to make space for her between them.

“Peggy, hey,” he greets her in a poor attempt at hiding his surprise and pleasure. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up.

“Hello Steve,” she greets him with a small smile on her red lips, revealing she has a British accent. Bucky grins and fights down another snort, Steve is  _ done _ .

“Wait… You guys know each other!?” Angie seems stunned, mouth agape as she looks between them. 

“Yes, actually, we do,” Peggy answers calmly, unfazed by Angie’s loud energy.

“We met through work,” Steve takes a sip of his beer, and finally looks around at the disbelieving group.

“ _ How!? _ ” Angie does not seem to be deterred.

“Steve was a model in a couple of my shoots,” Steve nods along to Peggy’s explanation.

“And you didn’t tell me!?” Angie isn’t getting over her shock anytime soon.

“You didn’t ask. Besides,” Peggy smirks, clearly pleased to be able to call her friend out, “if you actually  _ looked  _ at my work like I do yours, we would have had this conversation about three months ago.”

Angie completely misses the point of the remark.

“Three months!? You’ve known each other for _ three months _ !?”

“Yes, Angie. Do keep up. I just told you, he was in a few of my shoots.” Angie seems to finally lose her momentum, and stutters to a stop. “I don’t know why that’s such a big deal.”

Angie changes tactics and turns towards Steve.

“You never told me you were a model.”

Steve shrugs, “you never asked.”

Angie lets out a frustrated huff. Peggy and Steve look at her with twin expressions of carefully constructed confusion. Before she can say anything else, someone taps her on the shoulder and she gets whisked in a new round of congratulations. Bucky waits for a couple seconds, expecting to see if Steve is going to say anything until it becomes clear he’s too entertained gazing at Peggy to notice his friends standing a mere two feet away.

He clears his throat, “You ain’t gonna introduce us?” He can’t keep the amusement out of his tone. It seems he hasn’t been the only one to hold secret liaisons. He extends his hand towards Peggy as Steve hurries to fix his mistake.

“Oh shit, sorry. Peggy, these are Bucky and Sam, friends of mine.” She shakes their hands one after the other with a welcoming smile.

“Lovely to meet you,” Peggy pauses for a second, her expression pensive. “Bucky,” she addresses him even as her gaze doesn’t stray from Steve. “Steve said something about you having a list of all the times he’s been reckless. I think I’d like to hear more about that.” Steve chokes on his beer and Bucky can already feel himself warming up to this mysterious woman.

He cackles, and Steve, with Peggy’s eyes still on his, looks like he only just realized he’s made the worst mistake of his life.

“Oh, lady, you are in for a treat,” he’s already mentally salivating at all the embarrassing stories he can recount of Steve’s past.

“Buck,” Steve says, and even though he doesn’t show it, Bucky knows all the layers of that tone. He mentally does a mental double take. Steve is really invested in this. He truly cares what this woman thinks of him. And while there will never be a day when Bucky Barnes doesn’t enjoy roasting Steve Rogers to a crispy potato level that would make his irish ancestors proud, he also knows when to go in the exact opposite direction. 

“I have so many anecdotes, you’ve got no idea. You know he used to be really tiny?” He starts, trying to gouge how much they’ve shared with one other. 

“Tiny? Whatever do you mean?” Peggy looks back at Steve, all six-foots of him, then at Bucky, a confused expression on her face.

“Yeah, real skinny guy, tough as nails though” he says with a teasing grin, as if he doesn’t realize he’s actually painting a positive picture of him. “That certainly never changed. He hit puberty doubled in height and width in like, two months. I still haven’t forgiven him for passing me,” he shoots Steve a mock-dirty look.

“Really?” Peggy already has an amazed expression on her face.  _ Bingo _ . 

“Yeah, remember I told you about my bad asthma?” Steve reminds her and she nods. “I got over it at that time. I had to go through some medical treatments for it, nothing serious, though.” Steve scratches his neck, awkward with the conversation. Sam already knows all this, but Steve has never been exactly comfortable discussing his medical history. He thinks it makes it seem like he’s playing the pity card.

“Never stopped him from getting into trouble. His size, or anything, really. I had to drag his ass out of so many alley fights.” Bucky brings them back on track. “I swear, if I left him unsupervised for two seconds, he’d find a new cause to get behind. He was insufferable in high school when he took sociology classes.”

“Hey! I still stand by what I learned there, equality is important, in all its aspects,” Steve frowns, looking indignant and righteous like only he knows how.

“I ain’t arguing that with you, pal, my ma would kill me. What I  _ meant  _ is that you were fifty pounds soaking wet, and not one ounce of that was self-preservation.”

“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” Peggy is grinning, pleased at the information he’s revealed to her.

“Not much has changed believe me,” that’s Sam, whose lips are smirking around his beer bottle. He covertly winks at Bucky, and he gets the message they’re both on the same page here.

“Ain’t that the truth. But if you mean that, it so happens to be your lucky day, Miss. I’ve got a picture,” Bucky says, seized by a sudden stroke of genius. 

Steve looks dismayed, “how did you get an old photo of me?”

“Chill, it’s of both of us,” he reassures him. “Ma sent it to me the other day, found it when she was changing the old desktop computer,” He takes out his phone and finds it with just a couple swipes. He hands the phone to Peggy and Steve leans in to steal a glimpse from behind her shoulder.

Bucky stares at them as they look at the picture. Steve doesn’t like to keep photos from that time as a general rule, unless they are ones with the people he cares about. As he looks closer at Peggy and her expression, Bucky smirks in satisfaction. She looks impossibly endeared at the sight of his friend as a kid. As he takes another sip of his beer he wonders if this is the type of person Steve referred to when he mentioned finding ‘the right partner’. He wonders if he has that same, smitten look Steve is wearing now when he looks at Natasha.

Steve and Peggy stare at each other, trapped in their own little bubble and Bucky has to look away lest he start to feel like he’s intruding. Sam looks sideways at him with a smirk and an arched eyebrow like  _ you’re seeing what I'm seeing, right?  _ Bucky cracks a grin back and raises both his eyebrows, looking between them and the smitten pair. Sam snickers. 

Peggy hands the phone back to Bucky distractedly.

“That was certainly a change,” Peggy sounds a little winded, nobody points it out.

“You’d never believe how many times I had to physically drag him from a fight because some douche wouldn’t let a girl alone,” Bucky says, not only because it’s true but because that’s a core part of how Steve and he were raised.

“Bullshit, Buck. Don’t lie.” Steve shakes himself out of his stupor to point at his friend, “eight out of ten times you joined me.”

“Okay, fair point. Still, there was that time you…” Bucky starts, ready to launch into a Steve Rogers Against The World Certified Anecdote when Sam speaks up.

“As entertaining as that story would be,” he starts and Bucky loses the plot after that. His phone buzzes on his hand and all the nerves he has been pushing down for the last couple hours explode upwards over his skin. 

His fingers shake minutely as he opens the text.

**Natalia:**

Coast is clear

I had to disconnect the internet router and convinced Clint it’s broken

There’s a parkour competition in an hour he didn’t wanna miss for his life, so that’ll keep him occupied for at least a few hours. 

**Bucky:**

I’m just about done here, i’ll be there in about half an hour

**Natalia** :

Great, ring the bell so I can buzz you up

“I really gotta get going. My man’s waiting for me,” Sam says and Bucky has his second great idea of the night.

“You going towards Queens?” He asks, looking up from his phone, Sam nods. “Mind dropping me off?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Sam looks at him with a knowing glint, Bucky mimics the vibe. “Bye, Steve. Peggy, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Peggy, it was nice meeting you. I look forward to telling you all about that list. You’ve got no idea what this punk has done,” Bucky’s grin is huge and full of promise. 

_ And now we leave you two alone, little lovebirds _ , he thinks with no small amount of glee. 

“Don’t let the angelic looks fool you, he’s a little shit,” with a wink and a pat on Steve’s back, he turns around and follows after Sam.

He can feel Steve’s suspicious eyes on his back that he doesn’t bother to acknowledge. He’s looking forward to being alone with his own gorgeous lady and nothing is going to stop him from it. 

“You think Steve’s actually going to do something?” Sam asks as they slide into his car. 

“I have faith in the kid,” he jokes, not particularly worried. He knows what real interest looks like in Steve.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam nods, and Bucky supposes he knows better than him what Steve’s interest looks like from first-hand experience. “He’ll probably be all gentlemanly about it but that woman did not look like she was messing around,” he ads.

Bucky laughs, “I thought she was going to start climbing him right there, huh?”

“Girl was straight up  _ salivating _ ,” Sam cackles. He shakes his head as they take a turn, “you got any address in particular for me or a general area?”

“Oh yeah,” he tells him Natasha’s address. “But you can drop me off wherever works best for you.”

“Nah, it’s only five blocks away from my usual route, I don’t mind.”

Bucky nods in thanks and they set off.

“I don’t care how late you are, I’m not speeding to get you there,” Sam doesn’t even look away from the street as he lets him know in an unimpressed tone.

Bucky looks down at the knee he hadn’t even realized he was bouncing up and down and forces himself to still. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “‘Is not really a problem with your driving, just nervous.” 

The morning’s elation has faded along with the sunlight and now he’s starting to doubt it all. Natasha talked about ‘a few hours’, was that a hint of the fact that she’s gonna turn him down? That she just wants to do it softly, maybe get one last hurrah and then call it quits?

“Hot date?” Sam asks, an edge of teasing on his tone that invites Bucky into familiar ground. 

“Hot? Definitely,” he forces a smirk, but it doesn’t last. He continues in a softer tone, “date? That’s to be seen.”

Sam hums a knowing note, “it’s like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies, not knowing what else to say. 

Silence falls between them, surprisingly comfortable. Bucky doesn’t exactly dislike Sam, he’s a great dude, one of the best he knows in truth. But the thing is, he  _ did  _ break Steve’s heart when he most needed him by being on active duty and not there for him when Sarah died. And while Steve has forgiven him (sure, it took some time, but Steve is the king of being  _ genuinely  _ friendly with his exes), Bucky is only now just allowing himself to let go of it and give him another chance (the fact that the guy is now engaged, clearly in love with other guy and has shown absolutely no intentions of opening back up those old wound on his best friend helps).

“So, the wedding’s in the summer, right?” He asks as Sam takes a turn and the silver band on his hand catches the streetlight.

“Yep, December 8th,” Sam replies and his face lights up with a soft smile. He looks  _ smitten _ , there really isn’t another word for it. “Riley insisted on the date, it’s the same day my grandparents got married and they got a good sixty years together so it can’t be bad luck, right?”

Bucky whistles in awe, “sixty years?  _ Damn _ .” 

“I know right? My Nana passed away a bit after we got engaged,” he clears his throat lightly. “She was really excited about it,” his voice gets thick and Bucky feels a twinge in his gut. His own memories of his grandparents are hazy. They died when he was a kid but he remembers his grandma’s soft wrinkled hands and warm presence. His grandfather was always ready to sneak him a cookie when his mother wasn’t looking.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m glad you can honour her memory like that,” he says honestly.

Sam glances at him and for a second he looks skeptical before his light frown dissolves into a soft, if tight smile, “thanks, man, me too.” There’s a minute of silence before Sam dispels the heavy atmosphere, “anyway, there’s  _ so much _ to get done. You should see the list we keep on the fridge, it goes all the way to the floor and has  _ two columns. _ ”

Bucky chuckles, and though Sam seems overwhelmed with the prospect of tackling all those tasks, he’s very obviously glowing at the prospect. 

“Alright,” Sam speaks up and brings Bucky back to the present from whatever blank corner of his mind his consciousness had drifted to. “We’re here, I think?”

Bucky leans in to look out the windshield and immediately spots Natasha’s building. Something in his chest skydives and he gets gripped with a sharp sense of vertigo at the sight. He thanks Sam, who waves him off and ignores the way his hand shakes as it goes to grip the door handle.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam stops him as he’s about to close the door. He leans down to look at him and finds him giving him a kind smile.

“Good luck with your girl,” he wiggles his eyebrows and Bucky snorts.

“I’m pretty sure she’s the type to punch if you dare call her that to her face.”

Sam cackles and winks at him, “then she sounds perfect for you. Good luck, white boy.”

He chuckles at him and finishes closing the door, thinking he might have warmed up completely to Sam Wilson after all. As Sam drives off, he turns around and looks up at the building.

_ Here it goes, I guess. _

The buzzer is cold under his trembling finger. As he presses it, it rings with a sound too shrill for the quiet night and his frayed nerves, he grimaces at it.

_ No chickening out now. _

The few seconds it takes Natasha to answer feel like small eternities.

“<Who is it?>” Nat’s voice gets distorted by the shitty speaker and it takes him a second to understand the Russian.

“It’s Bucky.”

“<Bu-? Oh James, yes, come up.>” The door next to him buzzes and Bucky hurries to open it.

He climbs the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He can’t bear the thought of being  _ still _ . 

He knocks lightly on the door and it opens immediately. Natasha looks up at him with a tiny smile on her lips from the threshold. She’s barefoot, wearing comfortable leggings and a big sweater that bares one of her shoulders. Bucky feels terribly overdressed, though he’s glad he decided against the flowers.

“Hey,” she greets him and makes way for him to come in. “How was the play?”

“Really good, actually,” he answers honestly. “I’m not a theatre nerd, but it seemed really well done to my ignorant eyes.”

“I’m glad. Steve sounded excited about it last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, he loved it too. The director turned out to be friends with some woman he met through work actually. Peggy Carter, do you know her?” He asks, because it’s a safe topic and as anxious as he is to talk about  _ them _ , he’s also terrified of what it’ll reveal.

“I don’t think so. Her name sounds familiar, though, is she a model?”

“I don’t think so, maybe an editor? Or something like that,” he waves his hand around. Steve has been modelling for years, but Bucky still can’t understand much of the industry’s inner workings.

“Oh,  _ yes _ ! From  _ Sakar magazine _ ; I do know her, she’s pretty incredible,” Nat sounds impressed. “Steve is aiming for the big leagues, good for him.”

Bucky chuckles, “I got more of the sense that  _ she  _ was aiming for  _ him  _ but you know Steve, ever the gentleman, he’ll probably ask before holding her hand when she’s ready to jump his bones.”

They’ve made their way to the kitchen and he looks back at Nat as she opens the fridge to find her looking back at him with an expression that mixes of exasperation, incredulity and something he can’t pinpoint but nears amusement. She mutters something in Russian under her breath that Bucky doesn’t catch. He makes an inquisitive sound but she just shakes her head and offers him a beer.

“Let’s go sit on the couch,” she gestures him towards it. Bucky can feel the butterflies start back again in his stomach.

They take a seat and he half-expects her to grab the remote and start needling him for recommendations only to then tease him for them as they usually do. Instead, she sits down on one extreme and turns her back to the armrest, so she’s facing him as he lowers himself on the opposite end. The space between them is not much, but the way she’s curled up on herself, legs bent in front of herself and arms around them, gives Bucky the feeling that she’s holding herself very tightly.

There’s wariness, or more accurately caginess to her posture, like she doesn’t know what to expect yet she’s bracing for it just in case. Whatever it is, it wasn’t there before, and much less the previous night- Bucky fights to keep the hopelessness from showing on his face.

“So,” he says, because he might as well rip the band-aid off. “I think I should start.” He takes a deep breath, licks his lips, takes a moment to collect his racing thoughts. There’s a corner of the beer’s label that has peeled off and he grazes it with his thumb. 

He hasn’t practised what he’s going to say. Every time that he tried to, his mind drew a blank. He’s flying blind. He closes his eyes for a second, sends a quick payer and starts speaking. 

“<I really like you, Natasha.>” He isn’t sure why he’s talking in Russian, but it feels safer somehow. “<I  _ really  _ do. I like your smile and your sense of hummor and the fact that you’re the only one that can call me James and not make me hate it. Though I much preferred it when you called me Yasha to be honest. And I- I know we’re friends,>” he inhales deeply.  _ God, I really hope I’m not fucking everything up right not _ . “<That we only  _ happen  _ to sleep together but at some point when I was being too stupid to realize, it started to mean more for me. Not the sex, not exactly, but the rest: the late nights watching movies and the lunch breaks, and all that. It’s been going on for a while now, longer than I can realize, probably, but I only did the math last night, I swear. We’re friends before anything else and I’m kind of terrified of losing that but I also know I wouldn’t be comfortable keeping it a secret from you, not while we’re also sleeping together.” He looks down at his hands, not really seeing them but unable to look at Nat’s inscrutable face as he keeps going. “And I think you might feel similarly? Maybe I was projecting but something last night felt different, in  _ some  _ way, even if I might be wrong as to the reason.” He chuckles darkly, there’s a desperate edge to it. “I  _ really  _ hope I’m not, though.” 

He’s not sure when he switched to English, if it was either from his need to get the words out as quickly as possible or some other, deeper reason tied to the rawness of his emotions and the need to express them in his most honest way, sans translations. 

The silence hangs thick between them and Bucky’s heart is beating a million miles per minute. 

He’s dying to look up. He’s terrified of what he’ll find.

“James,” Natalia calls to him and his head snaps towards her. She’s lowered her legs and is now sitting cross-legged, the beer bottle forgotten in the nestle of her hands. “I know I’m not the most open person,” she starts and Bucky frowns. In his experience, Natasha hasn’t been inscrutable many times. Sure, she doesn’t  _ say  _ many things outright, but he finds it pretty easy to understand her just by paying attention. “I’m not, James, and there’s a reason for that. So, before we start to discuss exactly what  _ dating  _ would entail.” Bucky inhales sharply at her words, for a second he’s sure he must have misunderstood. Yet as Nat leans in, smiling softly, her own eyes shining, and takes hold of his hand to intertwine their fingers together, the penny drops. Champagne happiness, bubbly, fizzy and golden fills his veins. He knows he’s starting to beam, a big, dumb, smitten grin that Natasha is already exasperatedly rolling her eyes at. He’d be worried if he didn’t already see the beginnings of a fair share of sparkling giddiness in her own green eyes, even as she turns solemn. “There’s something I need you to do first.”

“Yeah, anything. Whatever you want,” he replies automatically. He’s looking at her in awe,  _ did she always look so good in these living room lights? _ He wonders. He’s unable to tear his gaze away from her as her grave expression turns wicked for a second.

“Watch it,” she warns him and a dark, playful smile briefly pushes up her lips. “Last time you said that you ended up tied to my bed frame.”

Bucky’s cheeks get hot at the memory her words bring forth and he blinks at her, “I distinctly remember that being the opposite of regretful. I’m not sure I’m getting your point here.”

Natasha’s eyes darken and dash to his mouth for a millisecond. She gets as far as wetting her own bottom lip before she’s shaking herself off the mood and staring back into his eyes again, looking the smallest bit disgruntled. She takes a deep breath and slumps her shoulders.

Bucky gazes at her, watching as another one of her transformations take place. He’s still unable to pinpoint what is it about her that changes every once in a while. It’s something deep inside her, but it’s also in her body language. It’s in the way she carries herself, but also in her eyes and the way she moves. This time it’s different. It's the opposite of what he has seen: when she straightens up, raises her chin and brings all the room’s attention towards her. It’s something more in line with the guarded, fragile way she held herself the previous night, like she wants to take less space, fold into herself and disappear for a bit. 

“Stop trying to distract me,” she scolds him. Bucky sputters in place, unsure as to what she refers to before she rolls her eyes and starts again. “What I meant, is that I need you to listen. There are some things about me that you don’t know, about where I came from, and it doesn’t feel fair not to tell you.” She grimaces, “I don’t want you to, to start a relationship without you knowing what it entails.”

“Natasha,” he breathes out, intending already to tell her there’s not a thing she could say that could drive him away. That he’s known ever since he met her and he’s still here, yet she shoots him a sharp look and he snaps his mouth shut. He understands then that this is something  _ she  _ needs to do. It’s in the defiant jut of her chin, as vulnerable and small she seems at the moment, her pride is as fierce as always. He nods and presses his lips together. He tries not to look upset when she takes her hand away from his to curl it again around the forgotten beer bottle.

“I came to the States with another agency, they were called the  _ Red Room _ ,” her voice is devoid of emotion even as her fingers fiddle with the label of the beer bottle and her eyes are troubled. “They recruited me while I was still in school. I did a couple campaigns with them in Russia before I turned nineteen and they offered me to come here. The opportunities seemed better, and we didn’t exactly have much money. I thought I’d be able to send some back to my parents, help out, you know? We thought we knew what I was getting into.” She chuckles darkly. “Things were not as we expected. 

“They had a board house, where they kept us all, provided housing and services, which seemed to rise every month. There was never enough money to spare, to keep. The agency was known for having extra-thin ‘exotic’ models so they kept us on strict regimens, and I went to ballet school, believe me when I say  _ strict _ ,” she tries to inject some lightness into her tone but it falls flat. Bucky doubts he could laugh anyways, not with the mix of dread, fury and helplessness swirling in his gut. He swallows thickly around the knot in his throat. “They wouldn’t let us go out, either. We got fed stories of crime riddled streets, gangs waiting to kidnap us at any corner.” She laughs this time, and it is a dark, bitter sound, “after all, we were all such  _ pretty little things,  _ so precious. <Made of marble,>” she switches to Russian and Bucky gets the sense that the phrase holds a deeper meaning than he can’t grasp. He lowers the beer to the floor and scoots closer, desperate to do something, to offer  _ some  _ sort of comfort, however belated. Natasha looks up at him and after a second lets him take her hand. She gives it a light squeeze and continues.

“A lot didn’t have blood relatives, like the twins, and even those of us who did were estranged. Any communication was controlled, phone calls were done with a member of the staff present and only once a week. They said they were too expensive to do more often. We weren’t allowed phones or computers either. We had no one to tell about the way we were all starving, working every single day from morning to night with barely any respite, with the bare minimum of food not to pass out in the middle of shoots.”

“How d’you get out?” He asks after she lapses into silence for a moment, thumb grazing the tender skin of her wrist, reminding her he’s here, he’s listening, he isn’t going anywhere.

“Clint,” Natasha answers, and this time the quirk in her lips is genuine. She echoes his movements and puts her beer down, when she sits back down, it’s much closer to Bucky. “We met at a shoot. He was working the lighting. He came into the dressing room by mistake as I was changing. He,” she clears her throat and blinks rapidly against the sudden wet glint in her eyes. “He saw me and immediately blanched. I was scared, I chucked a hairbrush at his nose. But you know Clint,” her smile turns so tender something clenches in Bucky’s chest. The love he sees in her eyes reminds him of the fondly exasperated way he’ll talk about Becca. It’s so fierce it makes her eyes shine. “He has that- that,” she gets stuck for a second and opts to shift to Russian, “<way about himself that makes everyone around him feel welcomed. He tried to talk me down but I couldn’t understand him. I had been in the States for months by then and I still didn’t know any English. He had this app on his phone, for when he forgot his hearing aids: you talk to the mic and it writes it down for you. It had a translation feature,>” some of the weight lifts off her shoulders as she sighs. Bucky feels himself loosen up along with her. The worst of the story seems to be behind then. Nat settles into the couch and leans into him, Bucky keeps caressing her skin. 

“<As soon as I told him what was going on he started looking into options to get me out. He gave me his number, told me about burner phones, gave me the money and everything. I was wary, of course. It seemed too good to be true, but I was desperate for a friend.>” Bucky doesn’t know how his heart can keep breaking, but it does. He kisses the crown of her head and shifts to gather more of her in his arms. Natasha smiles softly at him before continuing. “<When Wanda and Pietro arrived a couple months later, I told them about my American friend. I was determined to get them out. No one else was going to suffer through what I did. Not if I could help it.>

“<Clint had a lawyer friend, Foggy, who had a friend that worked pro-bono. It took months to build the case, but thankfully just the preliminary work was enough to get us out of the board house. We all moved here,>” she looks around the room and her eyes get glassy with memories Bucky isn’t privy to. “<We got odd jobs and the such to keep us afloat as the case progressed. We contacted the embassies and a lot of the kids were able to go back home to their families. Thankfully the visas were valid so no one was forcefully deported but it was a battle. We had to trace the  _ Red Room _ upwards through a million dummy corporations but in the end we managed. Now they’re all rotting in jail or bankrupt and we're still here.>” The curl of her lips is vicious, unrepentant and Bucky felt himself mimicking it.

“< _ Good _ ,>” he asserts, eyes burning with vindication in her honour. He swallows thickly again, belatedly wishing he still had his beer at hand to help him with the knot stuck in the middle of his throat, but he’s not going to risk moving and losing Nat’s proximity for a second. “<Thank you, for telling me, it,>” he clears his throat as his voice catches. He’s going to have to get his emotions in check,  _ this isn’t about you, Barnes. _ “It means everything that you trusted me with this, it  _ really  _ does.”

“So?” She asks and trails off. She’s not looking at him, instead staring at their joined hands, like she expects him to withdraw any second and is holding on to the last crucial seconds.

“So now we set a day for a proper date, I think,” he forces lightness into his tone. Nat looks up at him with a frown, like she can’t understand what he’s saying. Bucky barrels on, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I gave it my all with those restaurants recommendations but I think I can do better.” 

“You mean-” she says, with so much hope in her eyes that Bucky feels his heart break again. He beams at her, his veins feeling again with champagne as he starts to realize this is it.  _ They’re actually going to give it a try. _

“Yes, <little spider>, I do mean,” he replies nonsensically, tone impossibly soft and leans in to kiss her with all the tenderness he’s capable of. “Now more than ever before.  _ God _ , Natasha, you’re the strongest, most incredible person I’ve ever met, how on earth could I  _ not  _ mean to?”

She chuckles into his lips as he leans back in. It sounds incredulous but also so giddy their kiss tastes like happiness. Her cheeks are faintly pink as they draw apart and Bucky thinks that might be the most beautiful sight on Earth. He’s only half inclined to recognize he might be the smallest bit biased. 

“I don't-” Nat starts and sobers up. She takes his hand between hers and plays with his fingers for a second as he waits for her to continue. “I don’t want to tell everyone yet. I know that at work they kind of already know but our friends, Steve, Clint, the twins, can we wait?” She asks and he nods even though he can’t quite keep the frown from marrying his forehead. “Just for a bit, until we are a bit more settled. We’ve kept this under-wraps so far, just a bit more, yeah?”

“Yeah, Nat. I don’t know how much I like keeping it from Steve, I’m not going to lie to you but I can do it.” He thinks about the British woman his friend might even be sharing a bed with at that very moment and smirks. “And I think he’ll understand.”

“The twins might be a bit upset,” she reveals with a small wince. “Mostly Pietro, but then again, he once went and bleached his head completely without telling anyone so I got leverage,” she winks at him and the heavy atmosphere that has been surrounding them starts to dissipate.

“I once helped Becca go completely blond behind my parent’s back,” he reveals, already chuckling at the memory. “She regretted it  _ immediately _ .”

Nat barks out a laugh, “how old was she?”

“Fifteen,” he frowns, “I think. God was it so long ago?” He shakes his head in astonishment. His big little sister. She’s off playing in the big leagues of the tech world now, but she’ll always be the awkward tween who used to yell at him when he’d steal her CD player as a moody teen to blast Linkin Park as loud as it went.

“How did your parents react?” Nat asks as she nestles further into his side.

“Oh they almost fainted. You’d think my dad had seen a ghost,” he laughs, recalling with picture-perfect clarity George Barnes’ expression. He’s definitely going to dig around for some photo to tease Becca about it now.

“I once gave myself bangs as a kid,” Nat cringes at the memory. “I don’t think I managed to cut one hair the same length as another.”

“Oh God I gotta see that someday,” he smirks at the mental image. “Please tell me you have photos.”

Conversation flows from there, and slowly but surely their postures lose the last of their raised shackles. The hours pass and they find themselves curled around one another on the couch, chatting about anything and everything. Their sentences might get interrupted by kisses every now and then, but it’s always tender, slow, unhurried and it doesn’t go further than that. Both keep beaming every time they remember the possibilities their immediate future holds. They make loose plans for a date the following night and Bucky insists she let him take care of the details, despite her halfhearted protests. 

Dawn finds them intertwined and hazy. They haven’t really slept but their companionable silence has drifted into light, intermittent dozing.

“I really like your hair,” Bucky muses out loud as he curls a lock around his finger. “It’s so  _ red _ .”

Nat snickers on top of him, “why thank you. I also really like yours.”

“Really?” He seeks confirmation, pleasure pooling in his stomach at the compliment.

“Mhmm,” she hums and he has to crane his neck to look down at her. “It works great as a handhold,” she grins, expression turned sinful.

“Is that how it is?” He huffs goodnaturedly. “I take the pain of finding a good shampoo for it, take good care of it so it’s aesthetically pleasing and all that works gets reduced to  _ utility _ ?” He scoffs in mock outrage and Nat giggles. 

“I said I really liked it!” She twists on top of him and pushes herself upwards so she can look down at him. Her hair cascades on either side of her face and encloses them from the soft dawn light filtering in from the windows. “And don’t act like you don’t like it when I tug on it.”

To demonstrate, she sneaks a hand behind his head and grabs a good handful of it. Bucky can already feel himself going glassy with the feeling. He’s got a thing for people playing with his hair and going by Nat’s twinkling grin, she’s noticed.

“I do like that,” he admits, voice going faint as she leans in and kisses him.

It remains languid but there’s a new hungry edge to it. Natasha traces the sharp line of his jaw with her lips and then follows a slow trail down his neck, biting, kissing, licking mercilessly until he’s got his hands on her ass and back, pressing down on him to get some sort of friction. He grunts as she bites his collarbone lightly. Her hand finds the hem of his t-shirt to sneak underneath it, seeking skin and heat.

They stumble towards the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in their wake that Bucky only feels guilty about for a second before he happily lets Natasha reclaim all of his attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we have their first date! any predictions as to how that'll look like? :D


	11. Pelmeni, Zharkoe and Sharlotka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for alcohol consumption

Bucky agonizes about what to do for their first date. Is a nice restaurant too cliché? They kind of have done that already, going out to eat is basically all that their relationship was based on at first. So, is it actually a good idea, a nod to how they started this off? Or is it lazy and unimaginative?

They had fun when they went out dancing. But it’s been barely a day from that, repeating it just wouldn’t have the same impact, he thinks.

In the end, the idea comes to him in a sudden, bright epiphany. It’s so obvious, and at the same time so perfect he can’t believe it hasn’t crossed his mind yet. He grins the whole time he researches information about it. The more he finds, the more his grin expands. 

He tells Nat to dress nicely for their date when she asks. Her only reply is a suggestively smiling emoji that makes Bucky both dread the remaining time and excitedly wait for the date. 

They agree to meet up at his place, given it's the closest one and go from there to their destination. Steve has a night shoot for some perfume ad in the city so he’s going to stay the night at Carol’s place. The shoot will undoubtedly go until too late for him to come back on the subway and the cab fare from Manhattan would drill a whole in his pocket. 

Bucky only wonders for a second if Nat and her close relationship with the agency’s manager didn’t have anything to do with Steve’s convenient assignment before dismissing it as too far-fetched.

Nat texts him when she’s a couple blocks away and he goes down to join her at the door after rechecking he has everything they need. They’re a little tight on time and he doesn’t want to be late. It’s a surprisingly chilly night after the last rain and he’s glad he grabbed his blue peacoat on the way out given the dark green shirt he’s wearing underneath doesn’t provide much in terms of warmth. He’s scrolling aimlessly on his phone on the sidewalk when he hears the distinct sound of heels clicking against the pavement. He glances up to see Natasha crossing the street towards him. 

She’s wearing a long burgundy coloured thin trench coat, and the closed buttons make it hug her body swiftly. Her legs are bare when she takes a long step and they peak from underneath, so he supposes she must be wearing a dress or a skirt underneath it. Her heels are black and simple and her red hair is loose. A strand flutters in front of her face and she jerks her head, annoyed at it when it doesn’t budge.

“Hey,” she greets him with a small, pleased quirk of her red lips.

“Hi,” he breathes back. 

His nerves are still on high frequency though the mere sight of her has quieted something in him. It’s the realization that _ she’s here, she came, this is happening, this is it _ . He grins at her as he reaches out and tucks the offending strand of hair behind her ear. That brings him closer to her, and he’s already sort of cupping her face with his hand, so what’s he going to do in that position except kiss her?

Same as their words, the kiss is a greeting, just a soft press of lips to welcome each other. As they draw apart they are wearing matching smiles.

“So, where are we going?” Nat asks and the excitement shining on her eyes makes his own light up in correlation.

“<Patience, little spider,>” he soothes her and she pouts at him, earning herself another light kiss. “C’mon, this way. It’s only a couple stops away, no line shifts but I don’t want us to be late,” he tells her and takes her hand to direct her to their subway line. 

“Ohh,” she croons as they start walking. “We have a timetable, how romantic. You flatter me, Yasha.”

“Just one thing we can be late to,” he reassures her, lips quirking at the nickname.

They take the surprisingly deserted B line quickly enough. Their car is almost empty, the only other people riding it are a white woman with black hair wearing a leather jacket who’s leaning against one of the poles and clutching a pack of beer like a lifeline, and a black kid lounging on one of the seats wearing chunky red headphones, lost to the world as he nods his head to a beat and scribbles on his notebook. Natasha keeps looking around as they take off from the station, as if she expects to find a sign telling her their exact destination somewhere. He squeezes her hand to get her attention.

“Relax, you’ll like it. I can almost promise.”

“ _ Almost _ promise?” She echoes, but there’s already an unwilling smile stretching her mouth.

“Like, 98%,” he nods. “Well, 95%,” he amends and presses down on his own grin. “A strong 90%,” he resolves.

Nat laughs, shaking her head fondly at him and Bucky has to tamper down the fluttering butterflies that have spawned on his stomach. He  _ really  _ likes her laugh.

“I like your coat,” he says with a start as they pass another stop, realizing he hasn’t said anything about her appearance yet. “You look beautiful.”

She gives him a skeptical look, “you haven’t even seen what I’m wearing.”

It’s true, she hasn’t taken it off, which is unusual given she’s usually so comfortable with the cold she doesn’t even wear one. Bucky shrugs.

“My point still stands,” he says and looks squarely at her face, letting his eyes reflect what he sees and thinks when he looks at her. “You always look beautiful.”

That earns him another kiss, this time more… thorough than the previous ones.

“Flatterer,” Nat breathes when they part. She has to clear her throat before she speaks again, “the coat is actually Wanda’s. I might have snatched it from her closet without her knowing.” At Bucky’s raised brows she scoffs, “we shared the same closet for years, she won’t mind, believe me.”

Yet another indication of how her chosen little family operates, Bucky notices. He’s hopeful that they’ll be able to make this relationship work. He really doesn’t see how it  _ couldn’t:  _ they’ve been practically dating in every aspect of the concept except name for a while now. Meeting her family is something Bucky has only marginally considered. He’d thought more about it when they were working as friends, thinking about the day he’d inevitably come across one of the twins or Clint would come back to their apartment while he was there. Yet that never came to pass; and now the stakes are even higher.

He worries that with the past that they’ve had the twins might not take easily to him. He gets the idea that there will probably be a fair share of shovel talks in his future. He grins at the prospect.

“Alright, we’re here,” he tells her when they get to their stop. He stands up quickly and tugs at her to follow.

It’s still relatively early so when they get off at the open air platform, the city noise from below immediately reaches them. The surrounding buildings have their windows lit up in colours behind the curtains in the dwindling light. Natasha looks around with a confused frown and Bucky is pleased to see she doesn’t recognize the place. He’d been worried that she’d be familiar with it and that that’d take away from the novelty.

“<Yasha, where are we?>” she asks him in Russian, not wanting to completely reveal her disorientation. Bucky quirks the corner of his lips. This is probably the one place in New York City where the language switch is counterproductive. 

With another tug of her hand, he guides them down towards the street.

She’s paying too much attention to him to notice at first, trying to gouge by his facial expression any hint as to what follows. Bucky only grins at her cryptically and nods towards the street.

Still not easing her frown, she takes her gaze away from him and finally scourges the street. He, on the other hand, doesn’t give the street a second thought and keeps his eyes firmly on Nat’s face to watch her reaction.

She cocks her head to the side at first, looking confused like she doesn’t understand what the deal is, like this is just another New York busy street for her. He can pinpoint the exact second she notices the differences. At first, her frown deepens, disoriented before a light turns on in her eyes and her whole expression melts into elation. Her gaze jumps from one colourful storefront to the next, reading and mouthing the words as if she doesn’t believe her own eyes. 

She glances back at him, beaming and squeezes his hand, tugging at it with a mix of wonder, happiness and incredulity that Bucky can’t help but grin at. She opens her mouth as if to say something but nothing comes out.

“<Welcome to Little Odessa,>” he tells her. Her eyes light up with recognition at his words and she turns her head back towards the street.

“<Wanda mentioned this place, but I’ve never been.>”

Bucky beams with excitement at having the privilege of introducing her to this exported piece of her homeland. He motions her to start walking and they amble down the street. Nata’s eyes jump from one place to the other, searching for familiar hints. Her eyes get briefly misty as they walk past an old couple chatting in casual Russian and she has to blink the tears away.

A small café grabs her attention half a block away and she stops to read the menu stuck to its front. 

“<Are we going to have dinner here?>” She asks, clearly thrilled at the prospect.

“<Yes, but not yet,>” he tugs at her forward and she follows happily, her delighted smile never easing off her lips. “<First I have another surprise. I thought you might want to choose the actual restaurant for once. You know more about Russian cuisine than me,>” he winks at her.

In an impulsive move, she reaches out and kisses him lightly. 

“<Thank you,>” she whispers against his lips.

He refrains from pointing out that he hasn’t really done anything yet and instead brings his attention back to the sidewalk. Their next destination is a block away and they only have a few minutes to spare. Natasha has curled both her arms around his left and is walking right in step with him. A woman and her daughter, both wearing hijabs pass them by and the little girl smiles shyly at them.

They almost miss the entry, despite the big, red letters on top of the entrance that read THEATRE.

This is the part Bucky is most nervous about. The concept in itself tracks but he doesn’t exactly know much about ballet to know which are good shows and which aren’t. His expectations are set on ‘entertaining’.

Natasha seems intrigued enough as he fumbles at the ticket booth and they get ushered inside with a smile and a warning from the kid at the front that the show is running a bit late but that they’ll be directed to their seats soon enough. 

The inside of the theatre is warm and as they wait their small trek catches up to them. With a huff, Bucky unbuttons his blue peacoat and pushes the collar back down. Natasha, who even with her legs bare shows no signs of feeling the chill, follows suit. She’s distracted as she pushes the buttons out of their holes, taking in the reception area, the signs in Russian and the rest of the patrons waiting to get in. They’re all dressed nicely. There are a lot of families chatting along with some old couples. The theatre is relatively small and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a full house.

Natasha finishes unbuttoning the coat and absentmindedly slides it off her shoulders, finally revealing the dress she has been wearing underneath. 

Bucky’s brain short circuits. 

He’s pretty sure his jaw hits the floor along with his wallet as his hands stutter and miss the pocket he intended to stuff it into. 

Natalia’s dress is short, black and figure hugging with short sleeves. It could be considered conservative for its high neckline if it wasn’t for the three triangle-shaped cutouts it has over the chest, leaving her collarbone area up to a respectable hint of cleavage bared. 

Seemingly unaware of the inoperative state in which she had just rendered him, Nat folds her coat over her arm with an efficient, offhanded movement. She shakes her head to get her hair out of the way and the overhead lights bring the light freckles on her skin to the surface. Bucky has spent some considerable part of their time together tracing the expanse those freckles cover, fascinated by their elusive nature. In that moment, he thinks that it hasn’t been nearly enough. 

He has to bend down to pick his wallet up and prays that no one saw him lose his composure so openly. He manages to grab it right as an employee comes to usher them to their seats. As Natasha turns towards the door, Bucky finds out that the cut-out pattern from the front is also repeated on the back in a longer, even more revealing fashion. Finally pocketing his wallet takes a herculean amount of concentration. 

Nat looks back at him with a quirked eyebrow as she waits for him to catch up. He does in a quick second and automatically lays his hand on the middle of her back as they go in. Her skin is warm against the bits of his palm that touch it. The contact sends a shiver down his spine.

They get directed towards their seats and as they near them he leans in, the edge of her ear grazes against his lips as he whispers.

“I was right,” he says with an edge of smugness. Natasha makes an inquisitive sound and he leans in again, “you do look beautiful.”

Nat shoots him a small, pleased smile before they take a seat and she lays her hand briefly on his thigh. 

“So do you,” she echoes, eyes dancing with appreciation.

He really doesn’t know much about ballet. All he could gleam before buying the tickets was that the company making the performance was of a Russian school and the play (dance? performance?) was a classic. It doesn’t stop him from enjoying it though, or at least, from enjoying watching Natasha as  _ she  _ enjoys it. The company turns out to be a very varied bunch in terms of ages. A group of little girls that Bucky thinks might be interpreting mouses, flutter around the stage during a song, being absolutely adorable. 

Nat lays her hand on the armrest on top of his and intertwines their fingers at the start of the first song and leaves it there for the rest of the performance. He doesn’t mind one bit.

He helps her slip on the coat back on at the reception before they leave, a while later after the dance really ended because Natasha wanted to stay to congratulate the little girls on their performance. As she tells them about the plays she did as a kid and teenager, the whole bunch, still wearing their tutus and mouse ears, look up at her with unabashed awe.

Night has fully fallen when they finally reach the street and some of the commercial shops have closed but Brighton Avenue remains lit up with a myriad of restaurants and little cafés that still have their doors open. He’s not worried about the hour, as hungry as he is. From what he knows Russians eat dinner later than Americans so it’s unlikely they’ll close any time soon.

They stroll down the street, and Natasha excitedly tells him about what each food, event or item means and what memories attached to it she has. The menus turn out to be very varied and Bucky gets a lengthy explanation of the different types of Russian cuisine and their influences. In the end, they decide for a small, dim lit restaurant. It’s tiny and clearly a family place. The menu outside caught Nat’s attention for its familiar dishes and the nostalgia was clear on her face.

Bucky helps Nat again with her coat and holds her chair out for her as they take a seat. Almost immediately a woman around her late fifties and probably the owner, walks up to them to offer them the menus.

“Good night and welcome to  Varenichnaya ,” she greets them with a charming smile and a clear Russian accent. 

“<Hello, thank you. Your restaurant seems lovely,>” Natasha greets her. To anyone it might sound measured and polite, but Bucky can easily see how thrilled she is at finding Russian compatriots. The woman’s thin eyebrows climb up in delight at Nat’s words. 

“<Ah, a fellow countrywoman! I’ve never seen you before, young lady,>” she exclaims. “<And I have a mind like a steel trap for faces. If not you then I’d have remembered your pretty gentleman companion. Are you Russian too?>” She shoots him an inquisitive look and Bucky replies with a winning grin.

“<Not Russian, beautiful lady, just a Russian speaker,>” he gives her a wink. The woman bats the air at him with one of the menus and rolls her eyes at his flattery.

“<Are you new to America, then?>” The woman turns back to Natasha, already eyeing her with a glint that hints at an imminent adoption.

“<No no,>” Nat dismisses her concerns quickly. “<I just hadn’t found my way here yet.>”

“<Well, you’re welcome any time. We’re a tight knit community here in Little Odessa, we take care of our own,>” she winks at her with a distinctly motherly manner.

“<Thank you,>” Nat says and it’s evident she means it. “<We’ll look at the menus and let you know our orders, yes?>”

The woman nods enthusiastically before disappearing back into the kitchen, probably to tell the cook about their newly adopted protégé. 

“<Well that was unexpected,>” Bucky comments looking up from the menu. Nat chuckles and shakes her head muttering something that sounds like  _ ‘ _ babushka _ ’ _ . They take a moment to peruse the options before he speaks up again, “<you said Wanda had been here?>”

“<Yes, she comes every once in a while I think, to meet up with some friends. There’s a nice Sokovian community from what I understand. For some reason it never occurred to me to ask if there was Russian population too,>” she sounds a little put out by it, probably thinking of all the years she spent missing out on  blinis  and  babushka  love.

“<Honestly, I expected you to already know about this neighbourhood,>” he confesses. “<If I had known you had no idea I would have mentioned it earlier.>”

Nat smiles at him, reaches out and lightly squeezes his hand, “<better late than never.>”

“<There’s a pretty famous bazaar not far from here that specializes in Russian brands and products. It must have closed by now but you should go some day.>” He doesn’t make it a  _ we _ , but he wouldn’t mind it. 

They don’t take long to order, they’re both starving and as soon as the woman brings their drinks they order their main courses. Natasha gets pelmeni and he orders zharkoe at her suggestion. 

The dinner is really nice. The food is good, if surprising at times to his palate and they never really had problems with conversation. She tells him more about her growing up in Russia and he tells her about his adventures in Brooklyn with Steve and then in college both in Cornell and Russia. She tears up from laughter at his tales of cultural shock and vodka-induced hangovers. Both their voices turn wistful when they mention their families. He’s definitely closer to his than she is to hers, but there’s love in both their tones as they reminisce. Trash talking Tony Stark is a point they both share, they find out, as they commiserate about all the times he kept them from doing their jobs out of some ridiculous whim. He tells her a bit about his projects at Stark Industries and she talks about her favourite photoshoots and most uncomfortable runway shows. 

The owner passes by a couple more times to check on them as their dinner drags out and ends up giving them a generous slice of  sharlotka  to share as dessert, along with a shot of vodka ‘to warm them up for the cold’. 

Natasha is grinning as they leave the small restaurant, looking distinctly like someone who has had a very good, heart-filling meal. 

“Well, I’m all out of surprises now,” he confesses, unable to stop his smile as Nat burrows into his side. The vodka has warmed their insides, but the temperature has severely dropped since they went into the cozy restaurant.

“<I think you did well enough, Yasha,>” she reassures him with a pat on his chest.

“<Well enough?>” He echoes in a mock offended voice.

“<The night’s not over yet, is it?>” She asks him with a look that lights a slow burning fire in his gut.

“<No, it’s not,>” he agrees and leans in to kiss her, lightly. The street is still rather crowded despite the hour and he’s not one to give people a show. Well, not unless there’s an asshole to be put into place at least. 

They climb up the stairs to the subway platform and only have to wait for a minute before they’re boarding a car. There’s a bit more people this time around than when they came, so while Nat takes a seat, he remains standing next to her rather than find one of the empty solo seats. They hold hands all the way and Bucky’s skin tingles where their bodies meet. 

He feels happy, giddy with the night’s events. Tampering down the smitten, goofy grin that threatens to take over his face every time Nat looks at him is hard. And going by Nat’s expression, he’s not really succeeding either. She looks at him with plain fondness, and sometimes mild exasperation when he does something particularly silly like getting lost mid-sentence because she arches an eyebrow or flicks her hair and his brain promptly forgets every word in Russian it ever knew. 

Not that she’s very far behind. After he catches a glimpse of himself in the dark window, he decides to redo the bun he’s been sporting and as he turns to grab the elastic band off his wrist, he finds her staring up at him with ravenous eyes. He winks at her, smiling crookedly. 

_ A guy could get used to that level of appreciation _ , he thinks as his cheeks heat lightly.

They stumble out of the car at their stop and amble upwards to the street. Their steps are light and airy. Bucky’s pretty sure that if a street musician happened to pass by they’d end up dancing. He can’t seem to stop looking at Natasha. It's frankly ridiculous and he knows it. 

And yet.

There’s something about her this night that is fascinating him. It’s not like the times when she enthralled a whole room with merely a change in posture. It’s the contrary to the controlled way she holds herself in those moments or in front of the camera. She looks easy, carefree, unguarded, like she did when they were dancing. 

They stumble into the apartment between kisses and with already wandering hands. Steve is nowhere to be found, as expected, and they head straight to Bucky’s bedroom. It’s almost unfair, the easy way she kicks off her heels and peels her dress from her back compared to his clumsy fingers on the buttons of his shirt and his bothersome belt buckle. 

Natasha straddles him on the bed when they finally fall on it, wearing nothing but their underwear and gazes down at him. The room’s dark, only illuminated by the street light filtering through the curtains, turning her into a black and golden silhouette. When she lowers herself her curls graze against his chest and make him shiver. She kisses him, but this time it’s with a sweetness that is at odds with their immediate situation. 

“<Thank you for tonight, Yasha,>” she whispers against his lips and he can feel her smile. “<I had an amazing time.>”

“Me too,” he replies, craning his lips up to catch another kiss.

“And night’s not over,” she purrs next to his ear, setting another, different kind of sensation through his veins. 


	12. Shawarma

Bucky gets called to Tony’s lab as soon as he arrives at the Tower. The moment he sets eyes on him, Bucky knows Stark hasn’t slept yet and is running on way too many cups of coffee and energy drinks for it to be healthy. He attempts to make a comment about it but it goes completely unnoticed so he gives up. 

They do manage to make some progress on their prosthetics project as the hours pass. Dr. Cho’s input through a video call about the type of neural processing and the more biology-inclined aspects of their work is as always, invaluable. They’re all pretty hopeful that they’ll get there sooner rather than later.

Bucky’s phone rings as he’s going over one of their schematics. He’s distracted, only half-processing that the ringtone is the national anthem and therefore it must be Steve calling him. Tony leans in as Bucky reaches for the phone without looking and glimpses the contact photo.

“Who’s Captain America?” Tony picks up the phone from the table before Bucky can. “Oh my god, is that  _ Steve _ ?” 

“Tony give it back,” he closes the hologram with a flick of his wrist and makes to snatch his cellphone back but Tony dances out of his reach.

“Why is he dressed like this? Even  _ I  _ can tell this is horrible,” Tony exclaims, with certain morbid glee.

“He models,” Bucky answers and in the astonished second that follows manages to get his phone out of Tony’s hands. He swipes to connect the call.

“Hey, Buck-” Steve greets him. 

Whatever follows is lost to him because Tony has regained that gleeful glint in his eye. Bucky watches him creep closer with terror pooling in his gut. Moving faster than Bucky would have expected him, Tony attempts to steal the phone back and this time Bucky is the one who dances out of reach. If merely by a hair's breadth.

“Pass me the phone. I wanna talk to him,” Tony insists, hand extended.

“Hell no,” Bucky categorically refuses. He turns back to the phone, “hey, yeah, I’ll-”

“Is he coming over? Can I meet him? Please tell me I can meet him,” Tony continues to pester him with no regard to the conversation he’s attempting to maintain.

“Yes, we’re having lunch,” he replies, distancing his phone from his mouth again. Years of experience have told him it’s faster to indulge Tony than to ignore him. “And God no, don’t you  _ fucking  _ dare,” he threatens him but the dread already creeping on him tells him it’s already a lost battle.

“Buck, is everything alright?” Steve is starting to sound concerned.

Bucky puts the phone back to his ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be down in a minute-” 

“Tell him I want to meet Captain America,” Tony snickers. “I want his autograph. I’m coming down with you,” he states, eyes lighting up with the idea.

“I swear to God if you do that, I’ll-” he covers the receiver with his hand. “I’ll tell Pepper you haven’t slept and about your secret stash of energy drinks.”

Tony gasps, “you’re bluffing. I’m your boss, you wouldn’t dare.” 

“Pepper is my boss, you’re just an annoyance,” he shoots back. 

It’s true, though normally he wouldn’t dare to point attention to that fact. Pepper might be his boss, but Tony Stark has the majority of the board of Stark Industries and is well,  _ Stark _ .

Tony’s hesitancy only lasts for a second before he’s resolving, “she’s seen me do worse and this is too important.”

He makes another grab for the phone and Bucky has to smack his hand away.

“You sure it’s all good? Who’s that?” Steve asks, sounding more worried.

“Yes, I’m good, just- I’ll come down in a second but-” He sighs, Tony is practically buzzing in place with excitement- He knows he won’t be able to prevent this reckoning. “I’m sorry?”

He hangs up.

He takes the stairs in a dash, arm firmly on the rail so he won’t stumble and roll all the way down to his death. He doesn’t trust Tony, who has master control of FRIDAY, not to strand him in an elevator halfway through just to get to Steve first.

He arrives at the lobby and goes straight for his friend, who is waiting at the entry doors.

“Steve, pal, I’m  _ so  _ sorry, he just saw my phone when you called and I couldn’t stop him he-” 

Before Steve can answer, his bewildered expression betraying how confused he is, the Tower doors burst open. And out comes Tony. Bucky sighs in defeat.

“Captain America!” Tony exclaims, a big grin on his face. Steve freezes next to him and Bucky cringes, feeling like the worst friend on earth. His friend turns slowly to look at him, gaping.

“I'm  _ really  _ sorry?” He whispers faintly as Tony finally reaches them.

“Well,  _ he-llo _ , Cap, I’m…” He halts for a second, considering, “you know who I am. It’s lovely to meet you. My very good friend James, here, has told me a lot about you,” he gestures towards Bucky and Steve frowns, skeptical. “Yet what he never, ever,  _ not once  _ told me, was that you modelled for a living.”

“That’s because I don’t.” Steve corrects him automatically. “I do that for extra money, I’m a graphic designer.”

“ _ Oh _ , well that’s another thing  _ James  _ didn’t tell me,” he throws Bucky an accusatory look and he just rolls his eyes.

“That’s because we barely even talk, Tony,” Bucky’s tone is slightly exasperated. “It’s not like we’re buddies or anything.” That’s not exactly true. They  _ have  _ worked together a lot and are maybe on friendly terms, but Tony  _ is  _ sort of the person in charge and it’s hard to draw a line.

Stark does a double take at that, a frown mars his forehead.

“But- I call you when I need help in the lab.” 

Bucky winces internally. It is remarkable that he has access to Tony’s personal labs and control of FRIDAY to a small extent. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not aware that anyone besides Pepper does. He just never thought much of it, truly. 

The beginnings of an awkward pause surface before Tony shakes himself off and continues, “anyway. Steve, Stevie, Stevo, you say you are a graphic designer, ever worked on anything I might know?” He takes out his phone and starts typing, eyes not leaving Steve.

“I don’t know, I just came back from a meeting with Hammer Industries, they hired me for some HR brochures,” Steve shrugs.

“What? Hammer Industries?  _ Really _ ?” He shakes his head, “no no no, that won’t do. You know?” He points at Steve with the device, a pensive look on his face, “I think we need some work in the design department. We’ve been looking for someone to help with some stuff. We’re expanding towards security services and-” he cuts himself off with an alarmed expression. “Don’t tell anyone though, if the press finds out Pepper will kill me.”

“Okay?” Steve agrees tentatively.

“Great. Right, then, my people will get in touch with your people, wait- you don’t have people, well, I’ll guess then my people will get in touch with you.” He flicks his fingers in his direction, dismissive.

“Wait-”

“Oh, don’t worry about giving me your number, I’ll find it. I’m Tony Stark, I can find a phone number if I need it. Besides, I don’t like to be handed things.”

“You’re… hiring me?” Steve asks, he looks at Bucky, who shrugs at him. It honestly wouldn’t surprise him to hear Tony only hired people at face value.

“Yes, Cap, I am, as I said. We can hammer out the details later,  _ HA _ ! Get it?  _ Hammer  _ it out? God, I’m hilarious. Anyway, we’ll keep in touch, bye Stevo, bye James!” He turns around and walks back into the Tower, doors closing behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” Steve wonders. He’s still rooted to the spot, completely stunned with the situation.

“You just met Tony fucking Stark,” Bucky says, unable to not chuckle at his friend’s expense. He knows very well how he’s feeling.

“I literally don’t understand what just happened?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel like every time I have a conversation with him. Don’t try to process it either, it’s best if you simply ignore it and move on. Let’s go grab lunch, I’m starving.”

The shawarma place is one square centimetre away from being called a hole, but the food is good, and the service fast and friendly. As they take a table Bucky realizes he hasn’t brought Nat here yet. He mentally adds it to the list of places he still has yet to introduce her too.

“Hey, we should do something on Friday, get together, have some drinks.” Bucky proposes, mind still hung up on when he can see Nat again.

“Yeah, that’d be fun. You should invite Hope and Bruce again, they were nice,” Steve agrees.

“Yeah, I’ll tell them. That girl from the theatre could come, Angie.” Bucky gives Steve a knowing smirk, “she could bring her friend, she seemed...  _ nice. _ ” ‘Drop dead gorgeous and ready to eat you alive’ is what he really means.

“Yeah, Peggy’s… She’s alright.” Steve tries to keep it cool, but they have been friends since kindergarten, Bucky can read him like an open book.

“She really is,” he says in a kinder tone. “I really liked her, and you clearly do too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so starstruck in someone’s presence. Well, not since that kid from school gave you half his lunch after you both stood up to that bully.”

“Yeah, the kid’s name was Logan.” Steve smiles at the memory, before shaking his head, “but it’s not like that.”

“Well, obviously. Unlike that taciturn kid, Peggy is actually into you.” Steve doesn’t contradict him but he grimaces. Bucky lets out an exasperated huff, thinking he’s being unnecessarily self-deprecating. “C’mon Steve, I saw how you looked at each other. You can’t deny there is  _ something  _ there.”

“No, I’m not denying that. There is-- was?-- something. She gave me a lift afterwards, we kissed and she invited me up to her apartment,” Steve confesses in a rush. He fiddles with his napkin nervously and doesn’t meet his best friend’s eyes. It’s clear he has been holding onto that bit of information very close to his chest.

“ _ What?! _ Steve! And you didn’t tell me! How dare you?” Bucky, scolds him, torn between being proud and a little guilty that he’s technically doing the same.

“You’re one to talk. You haven’t spent a whole weekend at the apartment in like two months, you have practically a constant collar of hickeys.” Steve smirks, proving yet again that they know each other too well. “You’re not even half as sneaky as you think you are.”

“Okay, yeah, fair enough,” Bucky concedes, having the decency to look a bit chagrined even as he dismisses his accusations with a gesture. “Back to the important matters, only  _ you _ would doubt it when all  _ that _ happened, honestly Steve, c’mon! She wouldn’t stop looking at you and she _ invited you to her apartment. _ ”

“Yeah, I said no, though. It’s not what I’m looking for, with her.” He looks down at the table, “I told her as much, I think I might have scared her away?” His voice is tinted with uncertainty and Bucky feels his heart soften. As much of a hunk his best friend turned out to be, he’ll never stop being that 90 pound asthmatic kid who wore his heart on his sleeve at all times, deep inside.

“Why’d you say that?” Bucky might be biased at the moment when it comes to the efficiency of love declarations so he’s reluctant to accept them as anything but the best idea to ever exist.

“I texted her once I got home, she never answered. It’s been two days.” Steve shrugs, “I don’t know, I can’t blame her, if the two of us don’t want the same thing there is no point in dragging it out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s it though, she _definitely_ looked interested,” he shakes his head, something about this doesn’t ring right to him. “Maybe she saw it but something came up and she forgot to answer? She just doesn’t strike me as the type that ghosts.”

“I thought that, but  _ two days _ ?” Steve smiles self-deprecatingly, “I think it’s simpler, she just doesn’t want the same things as me.”

“Well, another reason to hang out on Friday, get you plastered, start the process of getting over someone,” Bucky insists, trying to find a silver lining.

“There isn’t even anything to  _ get  _ over in the first place,” Steve corrects him, rolling his eyes.

Bucky shrugs.

“Still a good idea. You don’t get drunk often enough.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t object. The conversation lulls for a minute before he speaks again.

“Have you decided about Sukkot? You going home for it?” Steve takes a bite of his roll and chews as he watches Bucky grimace.

“Can’t. Helen Cho is coming for a visit to help with the prosthetic program and I can’t not be there,” he sighs. He misses his family.

“They won’t be happy about it,” Steve reads his mind. “You already missed Rosh Hashanah,” his tone is not chastising but it edges close.

“I visited for Passover, which is earlier than you have,” he shoots back.

“Fair,” Steve concedes. “Maybe we can arrange a joint trip later on.”

“Sounds good.”

“They miss you too, especially with Becca gone as well.” Steve is like a brother to him, and a son to his parents as well. Winnie owns every single one of the magazines Steve appears in and constantly shows them off to visitors. Much to Steve's embarrassment and Bucky’s delight.

“We should Skype,” Steve proposes, words muffled through his full mouth.

Bucky wrinkles his nose at the sight and throws some napkins to Steve’s face, “as long as you don’t do that in front of them. You savage.”

That, of course, earns him an even bigger eyeful of the half-chewed shawarma in his friend's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties in with the other original fic so I'm sorry if some of it didn't make much sense! Thank you for reading so far, we're nearing the end already just some glimpses of how their relationship establishes to go <3


	13. Nachos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for alcohol

They find themselves on Asgard again on a Saturday. Bruce couldn’t make it but Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, and Clint came through. Thor is behind the bar again, dealing out free drinks under the counter for them when his brother isn’t looking. Hope has brought her husband along, a nice guy named Scott who in Bucky’s experience always looks like he has no idea what is happening at any given moment but is okay either way. They have to leave early, though, given Cassie is going to spend the next day with them and they had a whole day planned involving museum visits and silly experiments. The kid has not abandoned her fixation on science and both Hope and Scott are doing everything they can to encourage it in the most fun, light way they can.

Bucky has his own plan for the night: Get Steve plastered. 

It’s a surprisingly delicate objective. On one hand, his friend has never been a regular drinker, so anything other than beer tends to hit him like an anvil. At the same time, he’s a pretty big, fit guy, so it isn’t like he doubles over after  _ one  _ margarita. The trick is in finding the right combination to keep him tipsy, giddy, if a bit uncoordinated without falling into won’t-remember-anything-tomorrow-morning territory.

Bucky shares a look over the table with Nata as Steve laughs too enthusiastically at one of Clint’s terrible puns. They haven’t gotten around to stealing a minute alone tonight yet and his hands are itching to reach out to her. They’ve discussed letting their friends know about their relationship already, but haven’t really reached any conclusion. As he suspected, Nat is uneasy to upset the balance of her little family bubble when it could still not work out. Not that she or Bucky aren't giving this their all, but life has not been stable for her in the grand scheme of things and he’s set on not taking it personally.

Steve slings his arm around Natasha’s shoulders, practically engulfing her petite form under him as he leans in to whisper-yell in her ear. Bucky’s too far away to make out the words, but when Nat goes completely rigid under his best friend’s arm, face shutting down so fast is like a curtain fell on her features, he hurries closer.

“Steve, what gave you that idea?” Nata’s tone is cool, as Bucky finally catches the words, vaguely amused, like she’s only humoring him, though the tension in her frame is obvious to his eyes.

Steve lets go of her so he can use both hands to tick off the items with his fingers, swaying in place and smiling smugly.

“One!” He declares, and the conversations start to die around the table. “Bucky never cared for my friends from work. I always had to set up the hangouts, then, out of  _ nowhere, _ he wants to hang out.” He gives Nat a pointed look and Bucky starts to feel the bottom of his stomach fill with dread. “Two! You  _ never, ever, _ get up to get something when someone else can do it for you, spider,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and he knows he’s talking about the times they have sneaked off together under the pretense of getting drinks. “Three! Bucky doesn’t know  _ anyone  _ in Queens, but  _ you  _ live in Queens.” 

_ Yep, this is definitely happening _ , Bucky jumps straight to acceptance,  _ I should have known getting Steve drunk was a bad idea _ . 

“And  _ four _ :” his friend continues, “you’ve been making eyes at each other all night, it’s disgustingly cute.”

Steve sways in place, smirking at Natasha with raised eyebrows, glassy eyes and a smirk. The group, loosely amassed around a couple of tables, has gone quiet, all eyes turned towards them. The silence hangs in the air and Steve’s expression starts to fall.

“This is one of those things sober Steve is gonna regret, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Clint breaks the tension and pats him on the back reassuringly. He turns towards Nat, “anything you wanna say about this?”

She shares a glance with Bucky, and he shrugs. _ I’m game if you are, you know that _ , he tells her without words.

“It’s true,” she reveals, eyes lingering on Bucky for a second before they turn towards her best friend. “We’ve been together for a month. We were planning on telling you soon.”

Clint nods, takes a sip of his beer and looks back at Bucky, face serious. 

_ Here come the shovel talks _ , he thinks with an amusement he keeps off his face.

“You hurt her and after she kills you, I’ll make sure your body is never found,” Clint holds his gaze for a long second to drive the point home. As if Bucky would ever be stupid enough not to believe him.

“We’ll help,” Wanda adds, eyeing him and Pietro nods from his chair beside her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky’s expression and tone is deadly serious.

“The same goes the other way,” Steve says, words significantly less slurred all of a sudden. “I like you, Nat, but Bucky’s like a brother to me.”

Natasha smiles tightly at him.

“I know, Steve. I wouldn’t dream of hurting him either.” She looks up at Bucky, her expression unguarded for a second, voice soft, “I really like him.”

Bucky finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from him. He’s never been one for public declarations of affection, but Natasha is even less inclined to talk about those subjects in front of people. She has no problem making out in the street, sure, but talking about it? Not as easy. He knows he probably looks stunned or straight up adoring yet he can’t bring himself to care.

“Okay!” Steve claps his hands and effectively dissolves the serious atmosphere. “Shovel talks over. I propose shots, who’s with me?”

They end up in Steve and Bucky’s apartment a while later. The second the truth got out, both Bucky and Natasha stopped fighting the magnetic pull between them and now, in the privacy of his home and surrounded by her friends, Nata is sitting squarely on Bucky’s lap. Clint is sprawled on the opposite end of the couch, hungrily eyeing the big plate of Doritos in Steve’s grasp. Wanda and Pietro are sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

“Why is it that we’re getting Steve drunk tonight?” Wanda asks and takes a sip of her beer. “Not that I’m complaining, Steve is fun when he’s drunk.”

“Hey! I resent that! I’m  _ always  _ fun!” Steve manages to look outraged for a whole space of two seconds before he dissolves into giggles.

“Steve here has to get over a woman,” Bucky supplies. Two can play the game of revealing love interests.

“I told you, there isn’t anything to get over, barely anything happened,” Steve pouts.

“Even if it’s just in your mind,” Pietro says wistfully, “there’s always something to get over.”

“It’s just, she’s so  _ beautiful, _ ” Steve groans. “And she’s  _ British _ ,  _ ugggghhhh that accent. _ ” He leans back into the couch and Clint sweps into the rescue of the plate of nachos as it teeters precariously. “She’s so  _ smart _ . You guys should have seen how she dragged Thompson’s ass,” Steve laughs at the memory, not taking notice of his missing snacks. “It was glorious.”

“You got it bad, man,” Clint says around a Dorito.

“Yeah, I do.” He shrugs, “she doesn’t, though.”

“Pal, you don’t know that,” Bucky intervenes, acutely aware of his friend’s forlorn tone.

“Buck, c’mon, it’s been almost a week and she hasn’t even texted me. I think I know enough.” Steve shakes his head, “I’d rather not keep my hopes up. Better to just drop it, start moving on.” He takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping, “imma turn in, I’m really tired.”

“Sure, pal, but don’t forget to drink some water. The aspirin is in the bathroom cabinet,” he reminds him. Steve drinks so unfrequently he never quite knows what to do with hangovers.

“Yeah, it was great seeing you all, I needed this,” Steve smiles at them, a little forlorn. “Goodnight guys.”

They bid him farewell as he disappears into his bedroom, all eyes tracking his slumped form. 

“So,” Clint says in the ensuing silence.

Bucky looks back to him and realizes he’s been left alone with Natasha’s assorted family, who are all looking at him with expectant, assessing looks. A cold shiver travels down his spine.

“How long has this been going on?” Clint asks and crunches down on a nacho.

“Little bit less than a month, technically,” Nat replies, giving her friend a long-suffering look.

“Technically?” Wanda inquires. 

“I work at Stark Industries,” Bucky interjects because he’s really not ready to tell them they have been having sex for far longer than they’ve dated. “We came across one another on her first week and I offered to show her the best places to eat around the Tower.”

“You’re responsible for the fish tacos she brought home the other day?” Pietro perks up, seemingly very interested all of a sudden.

“If by ‘the other day’ you mean like two months ago,” Nat corrects him with a raised eyebrow. “Then yes, James recommended it to me.”

“Those were some really good tacos,” Pietro says wistfully. He looks so pleased Bucky thinks he might have passed muster with just that. 

Natasha is not giving the least inclination of climbing off his lap even though there’s plenty of space for her to sit and Bucky’s grateful. It feels like a statement in itself, that she remains with him even as her family questions him. It reassures him that their reluctance must be on the low side. 

“Nat,” Clint gets her attention and they proceed to stare at each other with the intensity of a whole silent discussion taking place.

Seemingly frustrated, Nata arranges herself better on Bucky’s lap to free her hands and starts to sign rapidly. He doesn’t know ASL but her sharp movements and the frown marring her brow tell him she’s not accepting whatever Clint is communicating. 

He signs back with less vehemence, and Bucky gets the sense that it’s somehow appeasing. Wanda snaps her fingers to get their attention and after giving Bucky an apologetic look, she joins the discussion.

They continue to sign for a while, Pietro says a couple things out loud but it’s not nearly enough for Bucky to get any sense of what is really going on. He idly wonders if this is what people feel like when Nat and him lapse into Russian. 

The discussion ends after Clint signs a couple fast, jerky movements and Nat bursts into laughter. The tension dispels immediately and she relaxes into Bucky’s chest, chuckling.

“So,” he echoes Clint and clears his throat. “Do I pass muster?”

“For now,” Wanda pipes up from her seat on the floor, but her tone is teasing and her eyes are dancing with laughter.

Bucky beams, the weight he had been too conscious of building on his shoulders falls away with a sigh. As if to hammer the last nail home, Nat picks up his hand from where it’s been resting on her legs and intertwines their fingers.

A while later, as they’re getting ready to go, Natasha calls him to the side.

“You think he’s going to be alright?” She jerks her head towards Steve’s door.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him this hung up on anyone for a long time. It doesn’t seem right to me, I saw her with Steve, she looked the  _ opposite  _ of uninterested,” he frowns, thinking about the night of the premiere.

“That sounds familiar,” Nata grins, giving him her own hungry look.

He chuckles, “yeah, we got lucky.” He takes her hand in his and drops a kiss on her fingers, “let’s hope Steve does too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: If you're reading veeery closely you might notice that the timeline doesn't really add up here, this is because this scene matches up with the other fic in the series and it was only when I got here that I noticed the mistake and as much as I brainstormed I couldn't find a way to smooth things up without changing half of either fic. So, can I ask you to suspend belief a bit further and make my life easier? thanks. You can yell at me in the comments abt it x


	14. Blinis

The leaves crunch under their feet as they cross the small park. Autumn is already high in the air and Bucky is back to wearing at least three layers at all times, Nat as always barely feels the chill. They’re walking towards the subway stop that will take them to Nat’s apartment after Bucky picked her up from a shoot, laughing at one of his retellings of the latest lab mishap when someone calls out Natasha’s name in an uncertain tone.

“Wha-” Nat turns around, stretching the reach of their joined hands, when she spots who it is, “oh, hi.”

“Hello Natasha,” the brown-haired man smiles at her, looking both surprised and delighted. “How is it going?”

His eyes are hidden behind red-tinted glasses and it takes Bucky a second to notice the cane he’s holding on his hand and realize he’s blind and not some hipster. 

_ Well, he could still be a hipster _ , he reasons with himself,  _ he didn’t  _ have  _ to pick them red-tinted _ . 

“Hey, I’m good, you? It’s been a while,” Nat shifts into place, looking uncertain. An indecisive smile pushes up her lips.

Not wanting to intrude but also not wanting to stand like a post as they talk, Bucky clears his throat lightly. 

“Oh, James this is-” she starts but the man cuts in.

“Matt Murdock, pleasure to meet you,” he passes his cane to his left hand and extends his right to shake. He has a deep voice and his smile seems sincere, if aimed slightly to the left.

“Bucky Barnes, pleasure’s all mine,” he replies and shakes, finding his palm surprisingly calloused.

He’s not sure what’s going on but Nat is a little tense on his arm and he can’t quite put his finger on why.

“So, how do you guys know each other?” He goes in, because he was never the subtlest of people and the tension is palpable in the air.

“I-” Matt starts, but Natasha cuts him off.

“We used to date,” she says, voice tight.

_ Ah, _ Bucky thinks. 

They haven’t gotten around to the conversation about exes yet. He looks at the man again with new eyes. He’s handsome, brunette, with a faint stubble in his cheeks and a strong jawline. His red tinted glasses cover his eyes but Bucky supposes that doesn’t make much of a difference. He can’t realistically blame Nat for having a type. The  _ smallest  _ hint of jealousy pools in his stomach.

“What I was gonna say,” Matt continues with a good naturedly chuckle, seemingly not offended by the affliction in Nat’s voice, “was that I helped her and Clint with the trial against  _ Red Room Agency _ . Then yes, we dated for a while, but that didn’t work out.” There‘s no resentment in his tone, only a nostalgic pull to his lips. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Can’t say I’m not glad,” Bucky tries to break the tension.

“ _ James _ ,” Nat says, with an exasperated huff.

“What?” He nudges her with his elbow. “If you want me to say I’m sorry that we’re together then you’ll have to wait a while.”

She tries to roll her eyes but the pleased smile on her lips is unmistakable. His jealousy drips away at the sight.

“If Karen was here she’d probably say the same,” Matt interjects, not bothered by the exchange.

“Oh, Karen,” Nat muses. “She was the firm’s legal assistant back then, right? Blonde, blue eyes?” She seeks confirmation, eyebrows drawn as she tries to recall.

“So they tell me,” Matt replies with too much humour and it takes Bucky a second to understand what he means. Matt’s grin makes it clear he doesn't resent the mistake.

“Aw Matt, c’mon,” Nat huffs and the tension drains out of her frame. “I’m sorry, I’m out of practice. I’m glad for you though, she always seemed like a good person.”

“She is,” Matt acquiesces, and a blush colours his cheeks. “It took awhile but we got there in the end.” 

His smile is wistful and very clearly besotted, Bucky wonders if that’s how he looks like when he talks about Natasha. No wonder Steve teases him so much. Not that he is any different, with the head over heels way he is over Carter. 

_ We’re all so disgustingly in love _ , he chuckles to himself.

Matt’s running late to meet with a client so they exchange quick goodbyes and he sends his love to Clint and the twins.

They leave Hell’s Kitchen behind as the subway departs and quickly find their way to Queens. Autumn has cooled the temperatures back again but the sun still beats down onto their backs as they reach Nat’s apartment, loaded with groceries and bags. They’re planning to attempt to make  _ blinis  _ themselves.

Bucky’s mixing the batter before starting to fry it when he speaks up again. He’s not sure why, except that maybe that last drop of the jealousy that surged with their chance meeting with Matt has stayed around.

“Soooo,  _ Matt _ , huh?”

“Aw for fuck sake, James,” Nat drops the spoon back into the meat filling she’s preparing.

“What? I was just asking,” he tries to ease it up but it sounds fake even to his ears.

“Oh please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” she snaps back.

“I just wanted to know!”

“Know what? Huh?”

“I’ll tell you about my exes if you want to, I got nothing to hide.”

“Neither do I. I don't care about your exes, James. They’re your past, what does that have to do with the present? Do you plan on seeing them again?”

“What, no! Of course not!” He’s not sure how they ended up here but he can’t find the way to bring them back to five minutes ago.

“Exactly. Matt and I dated. We don’t anymore. What’s there to talk about?”

“I don't know, just-” 

“Then why do you ask? I’m with  _ you  _ now,” Nat interrupts him and when he turns around he can see the hurt that flashes in her eyes.

“I-” he takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers and tries to sort through this before it gets even worse. “I- I don’t, you’re right. I don’t care about the details, just, you know, was he good to you?” He resolves, thinking about the tightness in her voice at the beginning of their conversation with Matt.

Natasha lets out a strangled laugh, “Jesus James, what are you gonna say if I say he wasn’t? Go beat up some blind guy?”

It’s his time to bark out a laugh. Just like that the tension dissipates. 

“Oh god, can you imagine?” He giggles as he turns back to the batter.

“He’d lay you out, by the way. He boxes,” she replies with another laugh and adds more vegan sour cream to the pan. 

“A blind guy who boxes,” he repeats because he doesn’t think he heard her right.

“Yeah, well, his father was a boxer, Battlin’ Jack Murdock. I went to one of his training classes, they’re pretty cool,” Bucky makes a sound to let her know he heard before he starts on frying the first  _ blini _ . Natasha keeps going in a softer voice, “he’s a great guy, just not the one for me.” He opens his mouth to tell her that, never mind his previous words, she doesn’t owe him an explanation but she waves him off with a tight, slightly sad smile. “I met him, you know, during a bad time in my life and we kind of never got over that. We both knew what it was to be judged by our exterior, instead of for who we are, it brought us closer. I don't know,” she shrugs. “It just didn’t work out. And now that I think about it, Karen and him really seem like a perfect match.”

“I guess things worked out in the end,” he says and leans in, stomach fluttering when Nat indulges him with a kiss. “Just like they’ll with these delicious  blinis .” 


	15. Lasagna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Short and hopefully sweet!

**Natashen’ka** **:**

I’m going to be late

The set came apart mid shoot and they have to restructure it

**Bucky:**

Damn, that sucks, do you want me to come pick you up?

**Natashen’ka** **:**

Nono, I’ve got a ride w Carol

I don’t wanna cancel dinner so if you want to you could wait at my place till I get there?

The front neighbour has a spare

Her name’s May, i’ll text her to let her know you’ll need it

**Bucky:**

Sounds great, see you then, please don’t get crushed by a fake stucco wall

That’d really ruin my dinner plans

Nat replies to him with a gif of a cat nearly avoiding a tree as it falls as big bold white letters spell ‘Near Miss’ at the bottom.

He chuckles at his phone and leaves his bedroom, already excited at the prospect of seeing her, even if it’s later than he’d anticipated.

“You’re off to Nat’s?” Steve asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, one arm securely around Peggy’s shoulders as they watch some political thriller. There’s a sketchbook open on his lap and a couple frames captured in fast strokes on the open page.

“Yep, she’s running late but if I don’t leave now I’ll catch the rush hour.”

“Send her my love,” Peggy pipes up, shooting him a quick smile.

“Sure will,” he assures her and snatches his wallet and keys to go. “Place to yourselves, don’t go crazy, kids,” he winks at them. 

Peggy chuckles and winks back as Steve raises his eyes to the ceiling. Bucky and Peggy getting along wasn’t something he’d predicted and it has definitely not made his life easier. Bucky closes the door, leaving the couple to their own devices and skips his way to the front door.

Nat’s shoot takes even longer because the reconstruction isn’t perfect and the lighting has to be reworked again. Bucky rewatches a couple episodes of his favourite sitcom on her couch to pass the time as he waits for her before deciding to make himself useful and start on dinner.

They’ve exchanged their usual takeout and restaurant cuisine explorations to cooking attempts in the latest months to varying levels of success. Natasha is an amazing baker, as it turns out and really enjoys making big batches to share. Bucky’s favourite part is actually cooking  _ with  _ her, no matter what they actually do. Tonight though, he’s getting hungry and he knows she’ll probably be tired when she gets there.

When the door finally opens the homemade lasagna he’s been constructing is five minutes away from being done.

“<Welcome, little spider,>” he calls out to her. “Convenient timing as always, dinner’s almost ready.”

He hears her kick her shoes off and drop her bag down with even more aplomb than usual. Her lack of reply worries him, he finishes drying his hands and throws the washcloth on the counter to go check on her. He turns around and finds her staring at him from the kitchen door with a complicated expression on her face.

“Nata?” He calls out and walks towards her, unease spiking inside him when he notices her eyes look too shiny. “<What’s wrong?>”

Natasha opens and closes her mouth a couple times before she finally manages to speak.

"The shoot was a mess,” her voice is shaky with emotion, there’s a trace of her accent in it. “I’m…  _ so tired _ . I basically dragged myself back here, dreading the moment I got past the door because I still had to make dinner and everything else,” she flutters her hand in the air in a vague, exhausted gesture before she takes a deep breath and looks at him straight in the eye. “But you know what happened halfway back?"

"What?" He supplies, frown not easing even as he realizes the slump in her shoulders is tiredness and not something worse.

"I remembered you were here,” she lets out a strangled, incredulous laugh and her eyes shine even more. “Waiting for me. And suddenly I couldn't get back fast enough.” Bucky’s breath catches, caught in the sudden surging emotion her words provoke. “Because even though the prospect of making dinner still exhausted me just by thinking about it, I didn't have a problem getting through it with you. I felt  _ relief _ , just… happy, knowing I was going home. I was coming home to  _ you _ ."

"Natashenk’a, I-" he tries to reply but gets choked up. His heart is beating a mile a minute under his ribcage as his brain scrambles to make sense of what she’s saying and then rechecks that she’s actually saying it.

"I think I love you, James Buchanan Barnes," Natasha breathes out, wonder shining on her face, almost as if she was surprised by the sentence herself. A second of silence hangs between them, glittering and perfect as her smile grows and her green eyes sparkle with amazement. A tear rolls down her cheek. "<I love you, Yasha,>" she repeats in Russian before rising to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his, closing down on the small space standing between them.

He kisses her back fiercely, as his heart swells so much it hurts and he feels like he’s about to float away. His arms come around her petite form, holding her closer still. He only pushes away the smallest space needed to be able to look at her in her eyes when he speaks.

“<I love you too,>” he breathes through his laughter, his Russian stuttering and awkward with his boiling emotions. “God, Natasha, I love you too.”

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've made it! I can't believe this fic is finally all posted and done omg writing it was a lovely experience and part of that were the lovely Lesh and Lucyfer who helped me out (thank you guys again <3).  
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my writing!! Hopefully you had a good time and enjoyed my take of these two falling in love. Either way it means a lot that you got all the way here.  
> If you're curious about their future, I pictured they moved in together after a while and got a couple cats (Alpine is Bucky's and Nat can't calls hers "kitten" in Russian bc Bucky will reply instead) and then maybe more down the line they also adopted kids. Maybe Nat got cast in some big campaign and Bucky became a bit of a trophy husband to the media before his prosthetic project with Tony rolled out and they achieved undisputed Power Couple Status. But that's just my nebulous contemplations, feel free to share yours in the comments :D
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@quiquimora](https://quiquimora.tumblr.com) if you feel like it!


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